THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 


.lA.MF.S    \V.    COTLTKU 


THE  LARGER  FAITH 


A  NOVEL 


BY 


JAMES  W.  COULTER 


Second  Edition 


PUBLISHED  BY  H.  S.  WINANS 
DENVER,  COLO. 


Copyright  1898 
By  JAMES  W.  COULTER 


Prlntin?  and  Binding  by 

Publishers'  Press  Room  and  Bindery  Co. 

Denver,  Colo. 


PS 


TO  MY  WTFE 


937973 


CONTENTS 


Chapter 

I.  DlCK  .... 

II.  YOUNG         .... 

III.  BOB  THOMPSON 

IV.  SOME  WESTERN  VIEWS          . 
V.  DARRELL 

VI.  WHITEFOOT 

VII.  NED  LONG 

VIII.  DAVID  WINTER    . 

IX.  THE  BISHOP    . 

X.  JOHN  DOE   .... 

XL  Two  LETTERS  - 

XII.  DICK  BRIGGS 

XIII.  FRANK  HORTON 

XIV.  MAKING  PROGRESS 
XV.  CORINNE  ROBERTS   . 

XVI.  THE  TRAMP 

XVII.  No.  3708 

XVIII.  THE  LARGER  FAITH     . 

XIX.  MAUDE     .... 

XX.  THE  HERETIC 

XXI.  A  DISCOVERY  . 

XXII.  UNITED        . 

XXIII.  THE  RANCHMAN 

XXIV.  OLD  FRIENDS  MEET  . 
XXV.  THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN 


11 

18 

24 

35 

46 

59 

70 

90 

105 

115 

127 

136 

146 

157 

167 

175 

184 

194 

205 

215 

235 

244 

256 

271 

280 


THE  LARGER  FAITH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DICK. 

Toward  the  close  of  a  clear  day  in  the  latter  part 
of  September,  1890,  a  horseman  was  traveling  along 
a  trail  in  the  foothills  of  northern  New  Mexico.  Both 
rider  and  horse  were  travel-stained  and  looked  jaded. 
The  sun  was  still  shining  on  the  hilltops,  but  the 
trail  was  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  mountains,  and 
the  rider  gazed  anxiously  over  as  much  of  the  sur 
rounding  country  as  was  in  sight.  The  view,  how 
ever,  was  limited.  The  road  seemed  to  be  in  a  large, 
bowl-shaped  depression  surrounded  by  mountains. 

The  traveler  was  apparently  about  twenty-six  or 
twenty-seven  years  old,  of  medium  height,  with  light 
hair,  blue  eyes,  a  blond  mustache  and  a  beard  of  one 
or  two  weeks'  growth  of  the  same  color.  It  was  plain 
to  be  seen  he  was  not  of  that  country.  The  way  he 
sat  his  horse,  his  clothes,  his  hat,  his  gloves,  the  way 


12  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

he  looked  at  the  surrounding  landscape — all  pro 
claimed  him  a  "tenderfoot." 

He  had  started  that  morning  to  ride  across  the 
country  to  the  little  town  and  railroad  station  of  Tres 
Piedras.  It  was  fifty  miles  by  the  road,  but  he  had 
been  told  that  he  could  save  ten  miles  by  following  a 
trail  to  which  he  was  directed. 

He  could  only  guess  how  far  it  was  to  his  destina 
tion.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  already  traveled 
full  forty  miles,  but  being  unused  to  riding  horse 
back,  and  the  country  traversed  being  strange  to  him, 
he  was  uncertain  on  this  point.  Besides,  he  was  not 
sure  that  he  had  kept  the  right  trail. 

Despite  his  weariness  and  anxiety  the  young  man 
could  not  help  being  impressed  with  the  awe-inspiring 
grandeur  of  the  natural  scenery  through  which  he 
was  passing.  For  the  time  he  ceased  to  think  of  him 
self  and  journey  as  he  gazed  in  admiration  at  the 
mountain  in  the  west,  the  sharp  outline  which  it  pre 
sented  against  the  fast-receding  light  making  a  clear- 
cut  silhouette. 

While  his  attention  was  thus  withdrawn  the  horse 
shied,  sprung  suddenly  to  one  side,  and  the  rider,  taken 
wholly  by  surprise,  fell  violently  to  the  ground.  With 
a  snort  the  frightened  horse  galloped  off  up  the  trail, 
and  the  rider,  as  he  raised  himself,  caught  sight  of 
some  animal  making  off  through  the  underbrush  and 
small  trees  which  skirted  the  trail. 


DICE  13 

The  young  man  had  no  sooner  got  to  his  feet  than 
he  sunk  to  the  ground  with  a  groan.  In  the  fall  he 
had  so  badly  injured  his  right  ankle  that  he  could  not 
touch  his  foot  to  the  earth  without  the  greatest  pain. 

For  a  few  minutes  his  suffering  excluded  thoughts 
of  all  other  things;  then  he  cursed  the  horse  which 
had  thrown  him,  the  animal  that  scared  the  horse, 
and  the  ill  luck  that  had  brought  him  into  that  coun 
try  and  subjected  him  to  such  an  accident. 

After  a  little  time  the  gravity  of  his  situation  sud 
denly  presented  itself  to  his  mind.  Night  was  coming 
on  rapidly,  as  it  does  in  the  mountains,  and  there  was 
in  the  air  the  icy  chill  which  at  that  altitude  comes 
with  the  first  shades  of  evening.  Alone  and  disabled 
in  a  strange  country,  with  no  protection  from  the  in 
creasing  cold  save  the  clothes  he  wore,  prevented  by 
his  injury  from  keeping  warm  by  exercise,  he  shud 
dered  at  the  thought  that  his  earthly  career  was  very 
near  its  end.  It  seemed  to  him  horrible  that  he 
should  die  that  way. 

There  had  been  a  time  in  the  young  man's  life 
when,  under  similar  circumstances,  he  would  have 
appealed  to  a  higher  power  for  help,  but  he  repressed 
the  thought  of  doing  so,  partly  as  being  a  weakness 
and  partly  because  he  felt  he  was  not  in  a  position  to 
claim  anything  at  the  hands  of  Providence.  He  was 
wondering  whether  he  could  possibly  get  together 
some  fuel  and  make  a  fire  to  keep  from  freezing,  when 


14  THE    LARQEB     FAITH 

through  the  twilight  he  saw  some  one  approaching 
along  the  trail  up  which  the  horse  had  run. 

In  the  gathering  darkness  but  little  more  could  be 
seen  of  the  approaching  figure  than  that  it  was  that 
of  a  tall  man  wearing  a  broad-brimmed  slouch  hat. 
As  he  drew  near,  the  young  man,  with  the  help  of  a 
stick,  managed  to  rise. 

"Good  evening,"  he  said,  eagerly,  feeling  tremen 
dously  relieved  at  the  prospect  of  human  aid. 

"Good  evening,  sir,"  replied  the  stranger,  in  a  voice 
which  had  about  it  that  indefinable  quality  which  al 
ways  denotes  culture. 

"I  was  thrown  from  my  horse  a  little  while  ago  and 
I've  got  a  badly  hurt  ankle,"  said  the  young  man. 

"I  caught  your  horse,"  replied  the  stranger,  "and 
thought  the  rider  wasn't  far  away,  as  the  saddle  was 
still  warm." 

"I  was  riding  carelessly — wasn't  paying  any  atten 
tion  to  the  horse,  and  he  shied  at  some  animal  and 
jumped  clear  from  under  me,"  said  the  young  man. 

"Well,"  said  the  stranger,  "the  first  thing  to  do  ia 
to  get  you  to  my  place.  It's  about  a  mile  from  here. 
Do  you  think  you  can  walk,  with  my  help  and  a 
stick?" 

"I  don't  believe  I  can,"  replied  the  young  man.  "I 
can't  bear  a  pound  on  this  ankle." 

"Then  I'll  bring  your  horse — or,  better  still,  I'll 
bring  one  of  my  burros,"  said  the  stranger.  "He'll  be 


DICK  15 

easier  for  you  to  get  on  and  off.  I'll  be  back  as  soon 
as  possible/'  saying  which  he  departed  in  the  direc 
tion  from  which  he  had  come. 

When  the  stranger  had  gone,  the  pain  which  the 
young  man's  injury  caused  him,  together  with  the  sud 
den  relaxation  from  the  mental  strain  caused  by  his 
fear,  brought  on  a  violent  nervous  chill.  He  shook 
so  that  the  added  pain  in  his  injured  leg  made  him 
groan  again,  and  his  teeth  rattled.  From  time  to 
time  he  broke  into  profanity  of  an  aimless  kind. 

Growing  calmer,  he  reflected  upon  the  very  nar 
row  margin,  in  time,  which  may  separate  strength  and 
happiness  on  the  one  side  from  helplessness  and  ex-> 
treme  misery  on  the  other.  He  began  to  wonder  if 
some  accident  had  befallen  his  rescuer  to  prevent  his 
return.  Listening  intently,  he  could  not  hear  a  sound 
of  any  kind.  The  stillness  was  oppressive;  it  was  a 
silence  that  could  be  felt. 

In  his  impatience  it  seemed  to  him  the  stranger 
had  been  gone  fully  two  hours,  when  at  last  he  re 
turned,  followed  by  one  of  those  patient  little  animals, 
the  burden  bearers  of  the  Rocky  mountains.  Having 
turned  the  burro  around  and  stopped  it  close  beside 
where  the  young  man  sat,  he  said,  cheerily:  "Did  I 
seem  to  be  a  good  while  coming?"  And  with 
out  heeding  the  young  man's  admission  that  the 
time  had  seemed  long,  he  added:  "Let  me  help  you 


16  THE   LARGER   FAITH 

up.  !Now,  just  swing  your  wounded  leg  over  his 
back  and  we'll  soon  have  you  in  a  better  place." 

The  young  man  hesitated.  "Are  you  sure  he's 
safe  without  halter  or  bridle  ?"  he  asked.  "I  don't 
want  to  get  this  ankle  hurt  any  more." 

"Perfectly,"  answered  the  stranger.  "You 'can 
depend  on  having  no  further  accident  on  his  ac 
count.  Eh,  Dick  ?" 

It  was  no  trouble  to  mount.  The  burro  was  so 
small  that  when  mounted  the  young  man's  feet  al 
most  touched  the  ground.  The  stranger  started 
along  the  trail  and  the  burro  followed  like  a  dog, 
watching  every  motion  of  his  master.  In  descend 
ing  to  the  crossing  of  a  little  stream  the  stranger 
said,  "Steady,  Dick !"  and  the  burro,  seeming  to 
understand,  moved  slowly  and  with  the  utmost 
care.  Proceeding  in  this  way  they  arrived  in  time 
at  the  door  of  a  log  cabin,  where  the  stranger  helped 
the  young  man  to  dismount  and  enter  the  house,  and 
seated  him  in  an  arm-chair  near  a  cook  stove  in 
which  a  fire  was  burning.  Striking  a  match,  he 
lighted  a  lamp  and  then  turned  to  the  young  man, 
saying :  "Now,  let's  take  a  look  at  that  leg." 

An  inspection  of  the  injured  ankle  showed  it  to  be 
badly  swollen.  The  young  man  noticed  that  in  ex 
amining  it  the  stranger's  touch  was  as  firm  and  gentle 
as  that  of  any  surgeon.  After  passing  his  hands  ca 
ressingly  over  the  swollen  part  of  the  leg,  he  grasped 


DICK  17 

the  end  of  the  foot  and  moved  it  slowly,  first  up  and 
down,  then  from  side  to  side. 

"There  are  no  bones  broken/'  he  said,  "but  the  ten 
dons  and  muscles  have  been  badly  wrenched.  A  hot- 
water  bath  is  the  best  thing  for  it." 

A  steaming  tea-kettle  was  on  the  stove.  Emptying 
this  into  a  clean  wooden  bucket  of  the  kind  used  in 
packing  fine-cut  tobacco,  the  stranger  added  some  cold 
water  and  then  caused  the  young  man  to  immerse  his 
foot  and  ankle  in  it.  He  then  placed  on  the  stove  a 
small  pan  of  milk,  which,  when  heated,  he  poured  into 
a  glass  and  handed  to  the  young  man,  saying:  "Sip 
this  as  hot  as  you  can  stand  it.  It  will  get  away  with 
that  chill." 

While  the  young  man  bathed  his  ankle  and  sipped 
the  hot  milk  his  host  got  from  an  adjoining  room 
some  muslin  which  he  tore  into  strips.  These  pieces 
he  sewed  together  until  he  had  one  strip  two  or  three 
yards  in  length  which  he  formed  into  a  compact  roll. 

At  this  time  a  scraping  noise  was  heard  at  the  door, 
which,  being  opened,  disclosed  the  head  of  the  burro 
with  ears  set  forward  and  an  expectant  look  on  his 
face. 

"Hello,  Dick!"  said  the  stranger.  "Waiting  for 
something?" 

And  getting  some  bread  crusts  from  the  cupboard 
he  fed  them  to  the  burro,  patting  his  neck  and  say 
ing:  "Good  boy,  Dick." 


CHAPTER  II. 

YOUNG. 

When  the  sprained  ankle  had  been  bathed  in  hot 
water  for  a  time,  the  stranger,  having  first  applied 
some  liniment,  proceeded  to  bandage  it  tightly  with 
the  strip  of  muslin ;  then  slitting  the  young  man's 
sock  from  the  top,  he  drew  it  gently  on,  got  an  old 
cloth  slipper  which  he  put  on  the  foot,  and  said: 
"How  does  it  feel  now  ?" 

"Much  better,  thank  you,"  said  the  young  man. 

But  few  words  had  passed  between  them  up  to 
this  time,  the  attention  of  the  one  being  taken  up  by 
his  hurt,  and  that  of  the  other  in  trying  to  render 
assistance.  The  stranger  had  not  yet  taken  off  his 
hat.  He  now  took  it  off  and  hung  it  up,  saying, 
"I  think  we'd  better  have  something  to  eat.  It's 
nearly  eight  o'clock,"  glancing  at  a  clock  which 
ticked  on  the  wall. 

As  the  young  man  nursed  his  injured  ankle  and 
thought  of  spending  the  night  on  the  mountainside, 
he  shuddered  and  said : 

"You've  done  me  a  great  service,  Mr. " 


YOUNG  19 

"Young,"  replied  the  stranger,  answering  the 
young  man's  implied  interrogatory.  "I'm  glad  to 
have  been  able  to  be  of  help  to  you.  You  are  a 
stranger  here?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other.  "My  name  is  Darrell.  I 
live  in  Ohio,  and  am  here  for  a  few  weeks  on  business. 
I  started  to  ride  across  the  country  to  Tres  Piedras, 
and  was  directed  to  take  a  trail  for  a  short  cut." 

"The  trails  through  here  are  a  little  hard  to  fol 
low,  for  persons  unaccustomed  to  them,"  said  Young. 

"How  far  is  this  from  Tres  Piedras?"  asked  Dar 
rell. 

"About  twenty  miles,"  answered  Young. 

A  look  of  annoyance  crossed  Darrell's  face,  which 
Young  noticed.  "If  you  want  a  physician,"  said  he, 
"the  nearest  one  is  thirty  miles  down  the  railroad 
from  Tres  Piedras.  I  could  get  him  here  by  about 
noon  to-morrow.  I  think,  though,  that  all  your  ankle 
needs  is  time  to  get  well." 

"I  don't  think  I  need  a  doctor,"  said  Darrell,  "but 
I'm  quartered  here  on  you  against  my  will,  and  mak 
ing  you  trouble." 

"Be  easy  on  that  score,"  answered  Young.  "You'll 
be  no  trouble  to  me,  and  I  think  with  time  and  pa 
tience  your  leg  will  be  ready  for  use  again." 

So  saying,  he  took  off  the  jumper  he  had  been  wear 
ing,  washed  his  hands  and  set  about  preparing  sup 
per. 


20  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

For  the  first  time  Darrell  had  an  opportunity  to  ob 
serve  his  new-made  acquaintance.  In  person  he  was 
tall  and  well-made,  though  somewhat  slender.  His 
gray  eyes  were  set  wide  apart  and  overhung  by  a  full, 
high  forehead.  The  nose  was  straight,  but  a  trifle 
too  long  and  a  shade  too  large  at  the  lower  end  for 
a  Grecian  model.  The  jaws  inclined  to  be  square,  and 
the  chin,  extending  forward,  though  not  obtrusively 
prominent,  had  a  well-defined  indentation  up  and 
down  the  center.  Except  for  a  heavy,  untrained 
brown  mustache  which  hid  the  mouth,  the  face  was 
clean  shaven,  or  had  been  within  three  or  four  days. 
The  face  was  tanned  brown,  except  the  forehead, 
which,  by  comparison,  seemed  unusually  white.  A 
full  growth  of  dark  brown  hair  completed  the  picture. 
In  age  he  might  have  been  anywhere  from  thirty- 
five  to  forty.  The  expresssion  of  the  face  was  calm, 
though  some  little  lines  about  it  give  Darrell  the  im 
pression  that  it  was  the  face  of  a  man  who  had  suf 
fered. 

Darrell  prided  himself  on  being  something  of  a 
physiognomist  and  reader  of  character.  He  had  first 
been  struck  with  the  peculiar  character  of  Young's 
voice.  While  not  especially  low  or  subdued,  it  was  a 
quiet,  musical,  cultured  voice.  He  now  noted  that 
Young,  in  moving  about  preparing  the  meal,  had  a 
certain  precision  of  movement  and  sureness  of  touch, 
and  before  supper  was  ready  he  felt  a  degree  of  inter- 


YOUNG  21 

egt  in  his  companion  which  was  entirely  unconnected 
with  the  service  being  rendered  to  himself. 

"That's  a  strong  character/'  he  said  to  himself, 
"and  a  refined  one.  I  wonder  how  the  devil  he  comes 
to  be  living  in  this  God-forsaken  region." 

Supper  being  ready,  Young  set  the  table  directly  in 
front  of  the  chair  where  Darrell  sat,  so  that  he  could 
eat  without  moving.  The  meal  was  plain,  but  every 
thing  was  well  cooked  and  palatable.  During  the 
meal  Young  was  quietly  attentive  to  the  wants  of  his 
guest,  and  Darrell  noticed  that  he  handled  his  knife 
and  fork  as  people  do  in  civilized  communities. 

When  the  meal  was  ended,  Young  cleared  the  table, 
washed  the  dishes  and  tidied  up  the  room  with  the 
same  quiet  celerity  of  movement  which  Darrell  had 
before  observed.  Then  going  to  the  door  he  sounded 
a  long,  shrill  blast  on  a  dog-whistle.  In  two  or  three 
minutes  a  dog  of  the  collie  shepherd  variety  bounded 
into  the  room,  expreessed  his  fondness  for  Young,  and 
then  suddenly  stopped  and  looked  inquiringly,  first 
at  Darrell,  then  at  his  master.  "A  friend  of  mine, 
George,"  said  Young.  The  dog  wagged  his  tail  and 
looked  knowingly  at  Darrell.  "Here's  your  supper," 
said  Young,  setting  down  a  generous  plateful  of  scraps 
from  the  supper  table.  After  eating,  the  dog  laid  hia 
head  on  Young's  knee  and  gazed  up  at  him.  "Have 
enough  supper?"  inquired  Young,  as  he  stroked  the 
dog's  head.  For  reply,  George  wagged  his  tail. 


22  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

"You  talk  to  your  animals  as  if  they  understood 
you/'  remarked  Darrell. 

"A  habit  I've  got  into  from  being  alone  with  them," 
replied  Young.  "They  expect  it  from  me.  Besides, 
they  do  understand  much  more  than  they  get  credit 
for." 

The  latter  statement  seemed  to  be  verified,  in  the 
case  of  the  dog,  at  least;  for  when  a  few  minutes  later 
Young  said  in  his  ordinary  tone,  "Now  you  may  go 
back  to  the  sheep,  George,"  the  dog  at  once  went  to 
the  door,  and  on  being  let  out  trotted  off  contentedly, 
waving  a  good-night  with  his  tail  as  he  vanished  in  the 
darkness. 

"Do  you  live  alone  here,  Mr.  Young?"  asked  Dar 
rell. 

"Yes,  except  for  such  company  as  you  have  seen," 
replied  Young. 

"How  far  off  are  your  nearest  neighbors?" 

"There's  one  ranchman,  a  German,  about  six  milea 
up  the  creek;  there  are  no  others  much  nearer  than 
Tres  Piedras,"  replied  Young. 

"I  should  think  it  would  be  lonesome,"  remarked 
Darrell. 

"I  don't  find  it  so,"  said  Young.  "I  have  work  to 
do,  and  enjoy  reading.  Then,"  he  added,  with  a 
slight  smile  in  his  eyes,  "I  try  to  keep  on  good  terms 
with  myself.  A  good  deal  depends  on  that." 

Darrell  glanced  about  the  room  and  saw  no  signs 


YOUNG  23 

of  any  reading  matter,  save  some  newspapers  spread 
out  on  shelves.  However,  he  made  no  comment  on 
this,  but  inquired :  "Are  you  from  the  east  ?" 

"New  York  is  my  native  state,"  answered  Young. 
Then,  after  a  slight  pause,  he  added : 

"Perhaps  you  are  tired  after  your  day's  ride  and 
would  like  to  retire.  Whenever  you  wish,  I  will 
show  you  where  you  are  to  sleep." 

Darrell  expressing  a  desire  to  go  at  once,  Young 
handed  him  a  cane,  and,  supporting  him  on  the 
right  side,  conducted  him  into  an  adjoining  room. 
This  room  was  the  same  size  as  the  one  they  had 
left,  being  about  sixteen  feet  in  length  by  twelve  in 
width.  The  floor  was  almost  covered  with  fur  rugs 
made  of  wolf  and  coyote  skins.  There  were  two 
beds,  and  the  covers  of  the  one  to  which  Darrell  was 
conducted  were  neatly  turned  down. 

"You  may  find  the  covers  a  little  heavy  at  first, 
but  you'll  need  them  before  morning,"  said  Young. 
"If  you  want  anything  in  the  night,  don't  hesitate 
to  call  me." 

Darrell  fell  asleep  thanking  his  stars  that  he  was 
there  instead  of  spending  the  night  on  the  mountain 
side,  and  wondering  who  his  host  could  be  and  what 
led  him  to  live  alone  in  that  out-of-the-way  place. 


CHAPTER  III. 

BOB  THOMPSON. 

Darrell  slept  soundly,  and  when  he  awoke  the 
next  morning  Young  had  already  risen  and  was 
gone.  While  he  was  putting  on  his  clothes,  Young 
appeared  with  a  pair  of  roughly  made  crutches  and 
saluted  him  with :  "How  are  you  this  morning  ?" 

"First-rate,  thank  you,  except  that  I  can't  bear 
any  weight  on  this  ankle,"  answered  Darrell. 

"Well,  we  can't  expect  that  for  a  few  days,"  said 
Young.  "How  are  these  for  length  ?" 

The  crutches  being  a  little  too  long,  Young  soon 
remedied  the  defect  by  cutting  off  the  ends  and  then 
said :  "Breakfast  is  ready  whenever  you  are." 

Having  declined  an  offer  of  hot  water,  Darrell 
washed  his  hands  and  face  at  a  home-made  wash- 
stand,  noticing  that  while  everything  was  rough  the 
soap  was  of  good  quality  and  the  towel  large  and 
clean. 

After  breakfast,  during  which  some  desultory 
conversation  had  taken  place,  Young  said,  "I  shall 
have  to  leave  you  for  a  part  of  the  day,  and  I  may 
not  return  till  toward  evening.  You'll  find  a  cold 


BOB  THOMPSON  25 

lunch  in  the  cupboard  here,  and  if  you  feel  like 
cooking  something  or  making  coffee,  the  materials 
are  there.  If  you  care  to  read,  you  may  be  able  to 
find  something  in  here  that  will  interest  you,"  say 
ing  which  Young  opened  a  door  leading  to  a  room 
which  Darrell  had  not  yet  entered. 

This  room  was  about  twenty  feet  square  and  was 
constructed  of  logs ;  it  was,  in  fact,  a  separate  log 
cabin  built  against  the  main  house,  thus  forming  an 
L.  There  was  no  ceiling,  this  room,  like  the  rest  of 
the  house,  being  covered  by  a  substantial  shingle 
roof  laid  on  heavy  rafters.  As  Darrell  entered,  he 
saw  at  the  end  opposite  the  door  a  large  open  fire 
place  in  which  a  fire  was  burning,  and  at  the  side  of 
which  was  a  large  pile  of  wood.  The  floor,  except 
ing  that  part  near  the  fire,  was  covered  with  coarse 
matting,  over  which  were  distributed  a  number  of 
rugs  like  those  in  the  bedroom,  with  the  addition  of 
two  mountain-lion  skins,  dressed  with  the  heads  on. 

At  one  side  of  the  room,  not  far  from  the  fireplace, 
stood  a  flat-topped  writing  desk ;  next  to  this  was  a 
bookcase,  or  rather  a  set  of  shelves,  containing  about 
two  hundred  books,  nearly  all  in  cheap  bindings.  On 
the  opposite  side  was  a  couch  completely  covered  with 
gray  woolen  blankets,  under  which  at  one  end  had 
been  placed  some  sort  of  a  pillow,  forming  a  head  rest. 
Near  the  center  of  the  room  stooda  square  table,  evi 
dently  of  home  manufacture — as  was  all  the  rest  of 


26  THE     LAKQEfi     FAITH 

the  furniture,  save  the  writing  desk  and  the  chairs, 
including  one  big  easy  chair.  Notwithstanding  the 
entire  lack  of  ornamentation,  the  room  looked  com 
fortable  and  inviting. 

"This  is  where  I  loaf,  when  I  have  time,"  said 
Young,  as  Darrell  surveyed  the  room. 

Approaching  the  table,  Darrell  was  surprised,  al 
most  startled,  to  see,  besides  a  few  well-worn  volumes, 
several  late  copies  of  the  standard  magazines  and  a 
number  of  newspapers,  including  the  last  number  oi 
the  New  York  Sunday  Sun.  His  face  expressing 
something  of  the  astonishment  he  felt,  he  glanced  al 
Young,  who  smiled  and  said  simply,  "Make  yourseli 
as  comfortable  as  you  can  till  I  return,"  and  with  a 
nod  left  the  house. 

"Well!"  said  Darrell  to  himself,  "there  are  some 
items  of  interest  in  the  wilds  of  New  Mexico  besides, 
the  climate  and  the  mountains." 

Mechanically  picking  up  and  opening  a  book,  his 
eye  fell  on  this  passage,  which  was  marked: 

"Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 
Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head." 

Turning  over  the  leaves,  he  saw  that  many  passages 
were  marked,  and  yet  his  mind  returned  to  the  first 
one  he  had  seen,  as  being  possibly  the  key  to  the  char- 


BOB    THOMPSON  27 

acter  of  his  host,  in  whom  he  began  to  feel  an  unusual 
degree  of  interest. 

Glancing  through  a  window,  he  saw  a  range  of 
mountains  glistening  in  the  morning  sunlight,  which 
suggested  to  him  to  go  out  and  take  a  look  at  his 
surroundings  and  breathe  the  fresh  mountain  air.  As 
he  passed  out  of  the  door  Young  was  just  starting 
away  on  a  gray  racker,  and  he  stood  looking  after 
man  and  horse  until  a  turn  in  the  road  hid  them  from 
view  and  the  clicking  pit-a-pat-a,  pit-a-pat-a  of  the 
horse's  hoofs  died  out  in  the  distance. 

Looking  around  him,  he  saw  that  the  cabin  was  situ 
ated  on  a  knoll  in  a  valley  which  seemed  to  be  shut  in 
on  all  sides  by  mountains.  About  the  house  was  a 
natural  grove  of  large  pine  trees.  At  a  little  distance 
were  some  corrals,  stables  and  other  outbuildings.  A 
little  farther  off  were  two  or  three  fields  inclosed  by 
wire  fences.  But  for  these  few  things  which  men  are 
pleased  to  term  improvements,,  the  country  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach  seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  primeval 
grandeur.  As  he  gazed  at  the  mountains,  some  of 
which  seemed  to  be  very  near,  but  were  really  three 
or  four  miles  distant,  he  was  impressed  with  a  sense 
of  magnitude,  and  he  wondered  whether  such  sur 
roundings  were  not  calculated  to  enlarge  and  elevate 
the  minds  of  those  living  within  their  influence. 
There  is  a  massive  greatness,  a  solemn  grandeur  in  the 
sight  of  mountains  with  their  peaks  clothed  in  per- 


28  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

petual  snow  which  to  the  dullest  mind  is  suggestive  of 
infinity. 

Darrell's  musings  were  cut  short  by  the  arrival  of 
a  man  riding  an  undersized,  bony-looking  horse.  The 
man  was  roughly  dressed,  wore  a  low-crowned,  broad- 
brimmed  hat  and  a  pair  of  the  high-heeled  boots 
which  had  been  in  vogue  twenty-five  or  thirty  years 
before.  There  was  a  coil  of  rope  attached  to  the 
pommel  of  the  saddle.  Dismounting,  the  rider  threw 
the  bridle-rein  over  the  horse's  head,  walked  toward 
Darrell  with  a  peculiar,  mincing  gait,  and  saluted  him 
with:  "Morning." 

"Good  morning,"  replied  Darrell. 

"Young  about?"  inquired  the  stranger. 

"No,"  answered  Darrell,  "he  went  away  a  little 
while  ago." 

"Say  when  he'd  be  back?" 

"He  seemed  uncertain,  and  said  he  might  not  re 
turn  till  afternoon." 

"I'm  down  on  my  luck,"  said  the  stranger.  "You 
a  friend  of  Young's?" 

"Only  since  last  night.  I  had  a  fall  from  a  horse, 
hurt  my  leg  so  I  couldn't  walk,  and  Mr.  Young 
brought  me  here.  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  stay  here  a 
few  days." 

"You  might've  found  lots  worse  places  to  stay  at," 
remarked  the  stranger. 


BOB     THOMPSON  29 

"Yes,  I've  already  found  that  out,"  assented  Dar- 
rell. 

"Well,"  said  the  stranger,  "I  want  to  get  something 
to  eat  and  feed  my  horse  before  I  go  back,  anyway; 
so  Fll  put  him  in  the  stable  and  wait  awhile." 

When  he  returned,  the  two  proceeded  to  the  house. 
The  stranger  seemed  very  much  at  home.  As  they 
entered  the  sitting  room,  or  the  room  where  Young 
said  he  did  his  loafing,  the  stranger  remarked: 
"Young's  got  about  the  nicest  layout  in  this  part  o' 
the  country." 

"Yes,"  said  Darrell,  "I  was  surprised  at  some  things 
here.  Who  is  this  Mr.  Young?" 

"He's  just  Bill  Young,  and  I  reckon  about  as 
square  a  boy  as  was  ever  wrapped  in  the  same  amount 
of  hide,"  replied  the  stranger. 

"How  long  has  he  lived  here?" 

"Goin'  on  four  years." 

"Do  you  know  where  he  is  from  or  what  business 
he  was  in  before  he  came  here?"  asked  Darrell. 

"No,  nor  nobody  else  'round  here  knows,  and  we 
don't  care.  You  see,  it  ain't  exactly  the  fashion  about 
here  to  ask  a  man  many  questions  about  himself. 
What  he  wants  to  tell  about  himself,  he  tells,  and  what 
he  don't  want  to  tell,  he  keeps.  Anyhow,  people  here 
don't  bank  much  on  what  a  man  was  before  he  come; 
it's  what  he  is  here  that  counts."  After  a  short  pause 


30  THE     LAEGEK     FAITH 

he  added,  as  if  he  thought  his  preceding  statement 
demanded  it: 

"My  name's  Thompson,  Bob  Thompson — I  guess  it 
was  Kobert  once,  but  nobody'd  know  who  you  meant 
if  you  spoke  of  Eobert  Thompson  'round  here.  I'm 
punchin'  cows  for  the  H.  0.  outfit  about  forty  miles 
below  here,  and  I  took  a  day  off  to  come  and  see 
Young.  I  ain't  seen  him  since  the  round-up  last 
spring." 

"My  name,"  replied  his  companion,  "  is  John  Dar- 
rell;  I  live  in  Ohio  and  am  here  for  a  short  time  on 
business." 

"I  seen  you  wasn't  a  western  man,"  said  Thompson. 

"No,  I'm  what  you  call  a  tenderfoot." 

"Well,  there's  tenderfeet  and  tenderfeet.  We  all 
thought  Young  was  a  tenderfoot  when  he  come  here, 
but  after  the  first  round-up  he  was  with  us  nobody 
ever  called  him  a  tenderfoot  no  more." 

"He  took  to  your  ways  pretty  readily,  did  he?" 

"No,  he  didn't  take  any  to  our  ways;  he  just  kept 
on  his  own  way;  only  none  of  us  had  knowed  him." 

Being  urged  to  tell  how  they  got  to  know  him, 
Thompson  said: 

"This  was  how  we  come  to  take  a  tumble  to  our 
selves:  From  the  time  we  started  on  the  round-up 
there  was  bad  blood  between  Bill  Doolin,  foreman  of 
the  T.  E.  ranch,  and  Jack  McGonigle,  that  was  workin" 
for  the  English  outfit  out  west  of  the  T.  E.  I  never 


BOB    THOMPSON  31 

knowed  what  was  between  'em,  but  we  was  lookm'  for 
trouble — for  Jack's  a  stayer,  and  Bill  had  several 
notches  on  his  gun  and  could  get  it  out  and  shoot  in 
about  two  seconds  less  time  than  it  takes  some  peo 
ple  to  wink.  Young  rode  with  Bill  some,  and  when 
we'd  been  out  three  or  four  days  Bill  says  to  me: 
'That's  about  as  decent  a  tenderfoot  as  I've  run  up 
against  for  some  time.  He  looks  to  me  like  a  good 
one  'nd  a  stayer,  but  he  don't  carry  no  gun.'  Well, 
one  evening  when  we'd  been  out  five  or  six  days,  we'd 
just  got  to  camp  when  the  trouble  broke  out.  I  was 
standin'  right  near  Bill  and  Jack  was  walkin'  away 
about  twenty  feet,  when  Bill  said  something  to  him. 
Jack  turned  'round  'nd  a  few  words  passed  between 
:'em  and  both  men  reached  for  their  guns.  I  was  just 
goin'  to  get  out  of  range  when  I  seen  Young  comin' 
up  to  Bill,  square  in  front  'nd  right  between  the  two 
guns.  He  lays  one  hand  on  Bill's  shoulder,  takes  hold 
of  the  gun  with  the  other,  and  says,  quiet-like  and 
smilin':  'Let  me  take  this,  old  son;  I'll  hand  it  to  you 
later.'  "We  all  thought  there'd  be  a  dead  tenderfoot 
right  there.  Bill  looked  at  him  a  minute  and  then — 
I'm  damned  if  he  didn't  let  go  that  gun  'nd  turn 
'round  'nd  walk  off.  I'd  've  bet  a  year's  pay  against 
ten  cents  that  nobody  in  the  territory  could  've  made 
Bill  Doolin  give  up  his  gun,  'specially  when  there 
was  a  gun-play  on;  but  Young  done  it,  and  ever  since 
then  Bill  would  go  through  fire  'nd  water  for  him, 


32  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

'nd  the  boys  that  was  lookin'  on  'nd  seen  it  wouldn't 
be  far  behind  him." 

"Why  didn't  Doolin  shoot  him?"  asked  Darrell, 
more  for  the  purpose  of  hearing  Thompson  talk  than 
because  he  had  anything  to  say. 

"I  asked  Bill  that  once,  a  good  while  after,  'nd  he 
says:  'I  just  looked  into  them  eyes  of  his  'nd  I  didn't 
want  to  kill  nobody.' >: 

"I  would  have  taken  Mr.  Young  to  be  a  man  of 
some  temper,"  suggested  Darrell. 

"It's  there,  you  bet!"  replied  Thompson,  "but  he 
don't  often  show  it.  The  only  times  I've  ever  heard 
of  him  gettin'  mad  was  when  somebody  or  some  an* 
imal  was  gettin'  the  worst  of  it.  He  can't  stand  it  to 
see  anything  hurt.  I  thought  he  was  goin'  to  scrap 
once  with  a  cowpuncher  that  was  kickin'  his  broncho. 
I  guess  there  would  've  been  trouble  mighty  quick, 
too,  but  the  fellow  took  a  look  at  him,  like  Bill  Doolin 
did,  and  dropped  it  right  there.  A  little  while  after 
Young  says  to  the  fellow:  'Excuse  me  for  speakin' 
as  I  did,  but  I  can't  stand  that  sort  of  thing.  It's  my 
weak  point.'  The  cowpuncher  wasn't  bad,  either,  for 
he  says  to  Young:  'Stay  with  it;  you're  all  right!'  " 

After  some  further  talk  about  cowboys  and  their 
life,  Darrell  asked: 

"Does  Young  stay  with  the  boys  when  they're  out 
for  a  little  time?" 

"You  bet  you  he  stays  plenty  all  the  time.     He 


BOB     THOMPSON  33 

don't  never  drink  himself,  though,  but  he  takes  care 
of  any  of  the  boys  he's  with  if  they  get  too  much. 
Some  of  us  was  up  at  Tres  Piedras  one  day  at  old 
Vigil's  place.  There  was  a  cowpuncher  from  Texas 
in  the  crowd,  that  didn't  know  Young.  He  was 
spendin'  his  money  pretty  free,  like  the  rest  of  the 
boys,  and  after  we'd  had  several  rounds  he  sees  Young 
with  the  boys  and  says  to  him:  'Here,  pardner,  you 
hain't  set  'em  up  yet.'  Young  walks  up  to  the  bar 
and  says:  'What'll  you  have,  boys?'  When  we'd 
named  our  drinks,  which  was  mostly  all  whisky, 
Young  says:  Til  take  a  cigar,  please.'  'No  you 
don't/  says  Texas,  'you'll  take  a  drink  of  straight 
whisky.'  'Thanks,  I  don't  care  to  drink,'  says  Young. 
'But  you've  got  to  take  a  drink,'  says  Texas.  'No,  he 
hain't  got  to  do  anything,'  says  Bill  Doolin,  breakin' 
in.  Texas  knowed  Bill  all  right  'nd  he  only  aays: 
'Why  can't  the  tenderfoot  take  a  drink  with  us?'  'He 
ain't  no  tenderfoot,'  says  Bill,  '  'nd  if  you  want  to  get 
out  of  here  with  a  whole  hide  you'll  drop  that,  sud 
den.'  Texas  knowed  it  was  either  shoot  or  quit,  'nd 
didn't  say  nothin'.  Young  only  smiled  and  says:  'I've 
tried  both  ways,  boys,  and  I  find  I'm  better  without 
whisky.  I  doubt  if  it  helps  anybody.'  Do  you  know, 
pardner,  them  few  words  done  more  good  than  a  tem 
perance  sermon?  I  haven't  taken  a  drink  since,  'nd 
several  of  the  other  boys  let  up  a  good  deal  on  their 
drinkin'  right  from  that  time." 


34  THE     LAEGER     FAITH 

Noon  having  arrived,  Thompson  remarked  that  it 
was  time  to  get  something  to  eat,  and  proceeded  in  the 
preparation  of  a  meal  as  if  he  were  the  sole  proprietor 
of  the  place.  After  dinner  he  washed  the  dishes  and 
put  everything  in  order.  During  the  next  two  hours 
they  talked  on  a  variety  of  subjects.  Darrell  noticed 
that  Thompson  was  not  voluble  or  enthusiastic  when 
speaking  of  himself  as  he  had  been  when  Young  was 
the  subject.  Indeed,  he  was  reticent  and  modest, 
withal,  when  asked  about  his  personal  experiences. 
When  at  three  o'clock  he  remarked  that  he  would 
have  to  see  Young  some  other  time,  Darrell  had  con 
ceived  a  liking  for  him.  There  was  about  him  a 
straightforward  sturdiness  and  a  freedom  from  con 
ventionality  which  gave  Darrell  a  new  idea  of  cow 
boys. 

Thompson  being  ready  to  mount  his  horse,  the  two 
men  shook  hands,  Darrell  saying:  "I  hope  to  meet 
you  again,  Mr.  Thompson.  The  day  has  passed  very 
pleasantly  for  me." 

"Well,  we're  likely  to  run  up  against  each  other 
'most  any  time.  You  ought  to  live  in  the  west,"  was 
the  answer. 

Which  was  more  complimentary  to  a  stranger  than 
Bob  Thompson  often  permitted  himself  to  be. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SOME  WESTERN  VIEWS. 

Young  returned  about  five  o'clock.  When  he  had 
taken  the  saddle  and  bridle  off  his  horse  he  threw 
over  him  a  heavy  blanket,  though  Darrell  could  not 
see  that  the  animal  was  at  all  heated. 

"Do  you  turn  him  out  to  pasture  that  way?"  asked 
Darrell,,  seeing  the  horse  unfastened. 

"He'll  not  go  away  till  I  take  it  off,"  answered 
Young.  "He  expects  some  grain  after  his  work  and 
will  stay  till  he  gets  it." 

When  told  of  Thompson's  visit  Young  expresssed 
his  regret  at  being  absent,  and  added:  "He's  a  dia 
mond  in  the  rough.  You'll  like  him  if  you  get  ac 
quainted  with  him." 

"We  got  somewhat  acquainted  to-day,  and  I  already 
like  him,"  said  Darrell.  "By  the  way,  he  seems  to 
have  a  very  good  opinion  of  you,  Mr.  Young." 

"Bob  has  a  great  deal  of  loyalty  in  his  make-up,"  re 
plied  Young,  "and  that  is  about  as  fine  a  quality,  and 
about  as  rare,  as  any  in  human  nature." 

They  spent  the  evening  in  the  sitting  room,  where, 


36  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

before  the  cheerful  fire,  they  looked  over  the  news 
papers  and  magazines,  occasionally  conversing  on 
some  matter  treated  of  in  the  periodicals.  In  relating 
some  personal  experiences  Darrell  incidentally  men 
tioned  that  at  the  time  of  the  occurrence  he  was 
smoking. 

"Do  you  want  a  smoke  now?"  asked  Young.  "I 
can  fit  you  out  if  you  smoke  a  pipe." 

Darrell  intimating  that  a  smoke  would  be  especially 
grateful  to  him  just  then,  Young  produced  some  plain 
pipes  with  reed  stems,  and  a  box  containing  about  a 
pound  of  tobacco. 

"I  didn't  know  you  used  the  weed,"  remarked  Dar 
rell. 

"I  used  to  smoke  a  good  deal,"  replied  Young. 

"Did  you  swear  off?"  asked  Darrell. 

"Oh,  no;  it  was  rather  a  case  of  wear  off.  I  don't 
care  much  for  it  now.  However,  I'll  fill  a  pipe  and 
smoke  with  you  for  company." 

By  bedtime  Darrell  felt  that  he  was  beginning  to 
get  acquainted  with  Young.  The  latter  was  not  at  all 
cold  or  reserved.  He  talked  freely  and  at  times 
laughed  heartily.  His  conversation  was  interesting, 
but  to  DarrelPs  disappointment  he  said  nothing  about 
himself;  and  Darrell  couldn't  help  feeling  there  was 
much  that  he  left  unsaid. 

At  the  end  of  ten  days  Darrell's  ankle  had  so  far 
recovered  that  he  could  begin  to  use  it  a  little.  Dur- 


SOME     WESTERN     VIEWS  37 

ing  this  time  they  spent  every  evening  and  sometimes 
part  of  the  day  in  the  sitting  room,  and  had  many 
talks  on  a  variety  of  topics.  Darrell  noticed  that 
whenever  Young  had  work  to  do  he  went  about  it  as 
if  it  were  a  pleasure  to  him,  whether  it  were  feeding 
his  stock,  repairing  a  fence  or  washing  dishes.  One 
evening  about  a  week  after  DarrelPs  arrival,  Young 
said  to  him,  "You  will  be  needing  a  change  of  un 
derclothing  by  this  time.  I'm  going  to  wash  in  the 
morning,  and  if  you'll  put  these  on  I'll  wash  yours," 
at  the  same  time  laying  out  on  a  chair  a  set  of  his 
own  underclothes  of  coarse  woolen  material. 

"I  don't  like  to  have  you  wash  my  clothes  for  me, 
Mr.  Young,"  said  Darrell. 

"Why?"  said  Young,  rather  abruptly  and  with  a 
searching  look  at  Darrell. 

"Well,"  said  Darrell,  somewhat  disconcerted  by 
both  the  look  and  the  sudden  question,  "I'd  rather 
get  some  one  else  to  do  it." 

"Why?"  repeated  Young,  gazing  steadily  at  him. 

"Well,  the  fact  is  it  seems  to  me  you  are  above 
doing  that  kind  of  work,  for  somebody  else,  at  any 
rate." 

"Nobody  is  above  doing  any  work  necessary  to  be 
done,"  replied  Young,  "and  nobody  has  any  right  to 
ask  another  to  do  for  him,  for  pay  or  otherwise,  any 
thing  which  he  is  unwilling  to  do  for  himself  or  for 
another." 


38  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

''Isn't  that  a  rather  unconventional  view  to  take 
of  it?"  suggested  Darrell. 

"Perhaps.  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  conven 
tionality  in  one  form  and  another  lies  at  the  root  of 
most  of  the  troubles  of  mankind?" 

"No,  I  had  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light,"  said 
Darrell. 

The  next  day  Young  did  his  washing  and  ironing  as 
he  did  everything  else,  thoroughly  and  quickly  and  as 
if  he  enjoyed  that  particular  kind  of  work.  As  Dar 
rell  looked  on,  he  \vas  reminded  of  something  he  had 
once  read  about  the  dignity  of  labor,  and  the  thought 
crossed  his  mind  that  it  was  being  exemplified  before 
him. 

One  day,  on  looking  at  a  magazine  picture  of  a  nunv 
ber  of  men  engaged  at  work  of  a  very  arduous  kind, 
Darrell  remarked  that  it  was  a  pity  man  was  doomed 
to  get  his  living  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow. 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  replied  Young.  "Labor  is  a 
blessing,  not  a  curse.  It  is  necessary  to  man's  develop% 
ment,  physical,  intellectual  and  spiritual,  that  he 
should  work.  The  race  would  die  out,  cease  to  exist, 
within  a  few  generations,  if  it  were  not  necessary  foi 
man  to  work  in  order  to  live." 

"But  ten  hours  a  day  of  this  kind  of  work  is  kill 
ing,"  said  Darrell. 

"That  is  man's  fault — the  fault  of  wrong  condi 
tions  which  men,  organized  as  society,  have  allowed 


SOME     WESTERN     VIEWS  39 

to  obtain.  Overwork,  like  any  other  excess,  is  hurtful. 
If  voluntary,  it  injures  him  who  does  it;  if  involun 
tary,  it  injures  both  him  who  does  the  work  and  him 
who  causes  it  to  be  done;  in  either  case  it  is  an  injury 
to  society  at  large.  By  the  way,  you  use  the  popular 
misquotation.  The  reading  is:  'In  the  sweat  of  thy 
face  shalt  thou  eat  bread.' '; 

At  another  time  the  conversation  turned  on  the 
subject  of  environment  as  affecting  the  progress  and 
welfare  of  mankind.  Darrell  said  he  thought  peo 
ple's  surroundings  had  a  greater  influence  on  their 
lives  than  heredity,  and  proceeded  to  state  some  rea 
sons  in  support  of  his  view. 

"Yes,"  assented  Young,  "environment  is  an  im 
portant  factor,  but  every  person,  to  a  large  extent, 
creates  his  own  environment." 

"Of  course,"  replied  Darrell,  "most  people  can  do 
much  to  better  their  surroundings,  but  a  great  many 
are  so  situated  that  they  can  neither  improve  the  con 
ditions  by  which  they  are  surrounded  nor  get  away 
from  them.  Take  the  poor  in  the  large  cities,  for  in 
stance." 

"Yes,  but  environment  in  its  broad  sense  includes 
the  spiritual  and  mental  conditions  by  which  we  are 
surrounded,  and  they  are  of  far  more  importance  in 
producing  happiness  or  misery  than  physical  condi 
tions." 

"I  don't  think  so  at  all,"  said  Darrell.    "Why,  men- 


40  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

tal  and  spiritual  conditions  (if  there  is  any  such  thing 
as  a  spiritual  condition)  are  the  result  of  physical  sur 
roundings  and  conditions." 

"I  look  upon  that  as  a  profound  error/'  said  Young. 
"Are  not  most  of  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  mankind 
merely  mental  and  not  physical  joys  and  sorrows — in 
other  words,  imaginary?  A  much  greater  number  of 
people  have  felt  pleasure  from  anticipation,  expecta 
tion  and  hope  than  from  realization;  a  vastly  greater 
number  have  suffered  more  from  fear  of  occurrences 
than  from  the  occurrences  themselves.  It  isn't  what 
we  possess,  but  what  we  hope  to  get,  that  makes  us  feel 
rich.  In  the  great  majority  of  cases  it  is  not  what  we 
have  to  bear  to-day,  but  what  we  fear  we  shall  have 
to  bear  to-morrow,  that  makes  us  miserable.  All  ob 
servation  disproves  your  theory  that  mental  and  spir 
itual  conditions  are  the  result  of  physical  surround 
ings.  You  may  satisfy  every  desire  of  a  man's  body, 
make  every  physical  condition  surrounding  him  just 
as  he  would  have  it,  and  he  may  still  be  an  unhappy 
man.  On  the  other  hand,  satisfy  a  man's  spiritual 
nature  and  you  will  have  at  once  a  happy  and  con 
tented  man." 

"There's  some  truth  in  what  you  say  as  to  mental 
conditions,"  said  Darrell,  "but  your  views  on  the  spir 
itual  condition  of  man,  as  affecting  his  physical  wel 
fare  and  happiness,  seem  to  me,  if  you'll  pardon  my 
saying  it,  to  be  what  old  Bill  Allen  of  Ohio  would 


SOME     WESTERN     VIEWS  41 

call  'a  damned  barren  ideality.'  I  can't  see  what  spir 
ituality  has  to  do  with  existing  physical  conditions,  or 
with  man's  welfare  in  this  life." 

"That  is  the  fundamental  error  of  mankind,"  re 
plied  Young.  "There  is  no  life  but  this  life,  and 
spirituality  has  everything  to  do  with  it,  for  the  very 
simple  reason,  to  my  mind,  that  the  spirit  or  soul  is  the 
real  person  of  which  the  body  is  a  mere  incident.  We 
speak  of  the  spiritual  side  of  man's  nature,  as  if  the 
spirit  were  an  incident  to  the  man.  The  spirit  or  soul 
is  the  real  man  and  controls  the  body  and  its  sur 
roundings.  This,  as  it  seems  to  me,  is  a  natural  fact — 
a  fundamental  law  of  man's  nature.  So  long  as  we 
overlook  or  ignore  this  truth  and  seek  for  happiness 
in  changes  of  physical  conditions — changes  of  what 
we  call  environment — just  so  long  we  shall  fail  to 
find  what  we  seek,  for  we  are  violating  the  law  of  our 
nature." 

"But  spirituality,  as  you  would  call  it,  doesn't  thrive, 
in  poverty,  squalor  and  dirt,"  said  Darrell. 

"That  is  the  appearance,"  replied  Young,  "which, 
as  in  so  many  cases,  we  accept  for  the  truth.  The  real 
truth  is  that  poverty,  squalor  and  dirt  do  not  thrive 
with  spirituality." 

"Still,  you  will  admit  that  these  things  exist  as 
facts.  Now,  if  they  are  to  be  changed  by  spirituality, 
how  are  men  to  be  made  spiritual  ?" 

"God — or,  if  you  please,  nature — has  done  that," 


42  THE     LAEGER     FAITH 

replied  Young.  "Every  man  is  by  nature  a  spiritual 
being.  When  we  recognize  this  we  at  once  perceive 
our  true  relationship  to  nature,  to  God.  Light  is  all 
that  mankind  need." 

"I  suppose  you'd  give  them  this  needed  light  by 
getting  them  to  be  religious,"  said  Darrell. 

"'All  men  are  by  nature  religious,"  replied  Young. 
cThe  Spirit  of  God  is  in  every  human  being.  It  is 
the  very  life  principle  in  each  of  us.  Religion  is  sim 
ply  the  intuitive  knowledge  of  our  true  relationship 
to  God — the  letting  this  life  act  in  the  natural  way." 

"Do  you  expect  to  see  changes  brought  about,  then, 
in  political  and  economic  conditions — in  the  environ 
ment  of  the  race — by  the  development  of  man's  spir 
itual  nature?"  asked  Darrell. 

"With  perfect  confidence,"  replied  Young.  "It  is 
the  only  hope  for  the  human  race,  and  I  am  an  opti 
mist.  I  believe  there  is  a  spiritual  awakening  among 
mankind  generally  at  this  time  which  has  not  been 
equaled  since  the  Christian  era.  This  is  not  confined 
to  any  one  part  of  the  globe.  All  men  seem  to  me 
to  be  coming  more  and  more  rapidly  into  the  light." 

"And  the  result  in  your  opinion  will  be ?" 

"Universal  happiness — the  millennium,"  answered 
Young.  "Not  in  a  day,  or  a  year,  but  ultimately.  To 
many,  that  time  is  now  here,  and  the  number  is  rap 
idly  increasing." 

"I  wish  I  could  share  your  optimism,"  said  Darrell. 


SOME     WESTERN     VIEWS  43 

After  a  pause  he  continued:  "You  said  one  thing 
which  puzzles  me.  You  speak  of  the  Spirit  of  God 
being  our  life  principle,  and  yet  you  said  there  is  no 
life  but  this.  Do  you  not  believe  in  the  immortality 
of  the  soul?" 

"Most  assuredly/'  replied  Young.  "My  idea  is  that 
this  life  goes  on  eternally — that  no  person  dies,  but 
simply  continues  to  live." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  said  Darrell.  "In  that  sense  I  un 
derstand  you." 

This  was  the  longest  serious  talk  they  had  had  on 
any  subject,  and  Darrell  felt  more  than  ever  inter 
ested  to  know  who  Young  was  and  what  he  had  been 
before  coming  there.  He  was  tempted  to  inquire,  but 
thought  of  what  Bob  Thompson  had  said,  and,  be 
sides,  he  was  not  at  all  sure  his  curiosity  would  be  sat 
isfied  if  he  did  ask. 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks  his  ankle  had  so  far  re 
covered  that  he  was  able  to  travel.  On  the  morning 
fixed  for  his  departure,  Young  having  left  the  house 
after  breakfast,  Darrell  walked  into  the  sitting  room 
to  take  a  last  look  at  surroundings  which  he  had  come 
to  like.  He  felt  that  in  some  respects  the  two  weeks 
he  had  passed  there  had  been  an  epoch  in  his  life. 
While  many  things  Young  said  had  set  him  to  think 
ing  in  new  directions,  he  was  still  more  impressed  by 
the  man  himself.  Curious  as  he  had  been  to  know 
Young's  history,  he  felt  a  still  greater  interest  in  the 


44  THE     LARGBK     FAITH 

questions:  What  is  to  be  his  future?  Will  he  waste 
his  life  here? 

As  he  was  wondering  ahout  the  answers  to  these 
questions  Young  entered  the  room,  saying:  "I  sad 
dled  your  horse  and  rode  him  a  few  miles  yesterday, 
thinking  he  might  be  too  skittish  and  throw  you 
again." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Darrell.  'Til  try  not  to  get 
thrown  again  this  trip,  though  I  really  don't  feel  that 
my  accident  has  been  a  misfortune  to  me.  And  now, 
I  want  to  reimburse  you  for  the  expense  I've  been  to 
you." 

Young  courteously  declined  compensation,  saying 
the  obligation  was  on  his  part,  that  he  had  enjoyed 
Darrell's  visit  and  hoped  he'd  come  again  whenever 
he  could. 

"I  accept  that  invitation  right  now,"  said  Darrell, 
"conditioned  only  upon  my  being  able  to  get  here." 
With  some  hesitation  he  added:  "I  don't  want  to  be 
too  inquisitive,  Mr.  Young,  but  do  you  expect  to  re 
main  here  permanently?" 

"No,  I  think  not — permanently,"  replied  Young. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Darrell,  "that  if  I  had  your 
views  and — your  way  of  stating  them,  I  should  seek  a 
wider  field." 

"Possibly  not,  if  you  had  all  my  views,"  replied 
Young,  smiling;  then  he  added,  reflectively,  "Still,  I 
had  thought  of  it.  After  all,  the  greatest  success  a 


SOME     WESTERN    YIE-WS  45 

man  can  achieve  is  to  learn  to  possess  his  own  soul. 
I  am  trying  to  learn  the  lesson." 

Then,  after  a  pause,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  distant 
mountains,  he  repeated,  musingly: 


'Serene,  I  fold  my  bands  and  wait, 
Nor  care  for  wind,  or  tide,  or  sea; 

I  rave  no  more  'gainst  time  or  fate, 
For  lo!  my  own  shall  come  to  me. 

'I  stay  my  haste,  I  make  delays, 
For  what  avails  this  eager  pace? 

I  stand  amid  the  eternal  ways, 
And  what  is  mine  shall  know  my  face. 

'The  stars  come  nightly  to  the  sky; 

The  tidal  wave  unto  the  sea; 
Nor  time,  nor  space,  nor  deep,  nor  high, 

Can  keep  my  own  away  from  me.'  " 


As  if  by  mutual  understanding  and  without  an 
other  word  being  said  the  two  left  the  room  and 
passed  out  of  the  house  to  where  DarrelPs  horse  was 
tied.  There,  having  secured  from  Young  a  promise 
to  correspond,  or  at  least  to  answer  his  letters,  Darrell 
mounted  and  after  a  final  handshake  rode  away,  feel 
ing  that  the  time  he  had  passed  there  was  somehow 
the  beginning  of  a  new  era  in  his  life — that  in  some 
way  he  had  experienced  an  awakening  which  he  could 
not  very  clearly  define,  even  to  himself. 


CHAPTER   V. 

DARRELL. 

The  views  concerning  the  effect  of  environment 
which  Darrell  had  expresssed  in  his  conversation  with 
Young  were,  as  most  of  our  views  are,  the  result  of 
personal  experience,  which  includes  not  only  the  sen 
sations  which  have  been  received  through  the  medium 
of  the  senses,  but  as  well  every  mental  or  spiritual  im 
pression  which  the  person  has  had. 

We  see  things  in  perspective,  and  never  singly. 
What  we  call  good  judgment  and  bad  judgment  are 
largely  matters  of  vision,  for  judgment  is  the  result 
of  the  combinations  in  which  things  present  them 
selves  and  the  viewpoint  from  which  they  are  seen. 
If  all  men's  visions  were  equal  and  if  they  saw  thing* 
from  the  same  viewpoint  all  men's  opinions  would 
be  identical.  It  is  only  man's  limited  vision  and  the 
false  point  of  view  from  which  he  sometimes  sees 
which  prevent  his  arriving  at  absolute  truth  on  any 
subject.  It  is  all  a  matter  of  vision  and  perspective. 

John  W.  Darrell  was  the  second  child  and  only  son 
of  Thomas  and  Martha  Darrell,  his  sister  Mary  being 


DARRELL  47 

three  years  his  senior.    The  elder  Darrell  was  a  retail 

merchant  in  the  town  of  B ,  in  Connecticut,  where 

the  family  resided  in  a  comfortable  frame  cottage. 
He  was  reasonably  prosperous  in  business  and  had  the 
reputation  of  being  upright  and  honest,  a  reputation 
which  he  had  fairly  earned  and  tried  to  deserve.  He 
took  pride  in  being  a  just  man.  He  did  not  mean  to 
get  a  cent  wrongfully  from  anybody,  nor  was  it  any 
part  of  his  intention  that  any  one  should  get  a  cent 
wrongfully  from  him.  He  was  pious  and  somewhat 
austere  in  his  piety.  In  his  family  morning  and  even 
ing  prayers  were  held  regularly  in  connection  with  the 
reading  of  a  chapter  from  the  bible,  and  a  meal  was 
never  eaten  over  which  a  blessing  had  not  been  asked. 
All  the  family  were  regular  attendants  at  church  and 
at  the  midweek  prayer  meeting,  while  the  children 
were  sent  regularly  to  Sunday  school — or  rather,  Sab 
bath  school — where  for  many  years  their  father  was 
teacher  of  a  bible  class. 

Mrs.  Darrell  was  a  woman  of  more  than  ordinary 
intellect,  as  well  as  of  refinement  and  sensibility.  She 
was  a  gentle,  affectionate  mother,  whose  whole  life, 
like  that  of  the  children,  was  dominated  by  the  will  of 
her  husband.  Not  that  the  elder  Darrell  was  either 
as  husband  or  parent  tyrannical  or  unkind  as  those 
terms  are  commonly  understood.  He  was  known 
to  all  the  community  to  be  "a  good  provider."  He 
would  not  for  a  moment  have  allowed  any  member  of 


48  THE     LARGEE     FAITH 

his  family  to  lack  any  of  the  necessaries  of  life  as  he 
understood  them  to  be.  As  has  been  said,  he  sought 
to  be  a  just  man.  If  a  man  of  his  character  could  be 
said  to  have  a  hobby,  his  hobby  was  strict  and  exact 
justice. 

Still,  he  was  a  man  in  whose  presence  children  are 
wont  to  be  quiet.  Little  John  and  his  sister  used  to 
engage  in  noisy  romps  sometimes  when  only  their 
mother  was  present;  as  soon  as  their  father  returned 
Aiey  were  apt  to  think  it  was  bedtime,  and  this  with- 
out  any  urging  from  either  parent. 

From  their  earliest  infancy  there  had  been  instilled 
into  the  minds  of  both  children  the  strictest  tenets  of 
orthodoxy.  One  of  the  first  books  of  which  John  had 
any  recollection  was  a  little  paper-covered  volume 
which  his  father  had  presented  to  him  when  he  was 
five  or  six  years  old.  On  the  cover  was  a  picture  of 
John  Rogers  being  burned  at  the  stake,  while  near 
him  stood  his  wife  surrounded  by  several  children  of 
various  sizes,  and  holding  a  baby  in  her  arms.  Most 
of  the  literature  of  this  volume  was  arranged  in  short 
verses  and  rhymes  which  could  be  easily  memorized. 
Among  the  first  of  these  in  the  book  was  a  couplet 
over  which  the  youthful  John  spent  many  hours  of 
deep  meditation: 

"In  Adam's  fall 
We  sinned  all." 


BARBELL  49 

It  seemed  so  very  long  ago — he  had  heard  them  say 
it  was  six  thousand  years — since  Adam  ate  that  apple. 
Of  course  it  was  very  wicked  of  Adam,  since  God  had 
told  him  not  to,  but  still  the  awful  penalty  attached! 
That  most  of  the  human  race  should  be  cast  into  hell- 
fire,  there  to  suffer  eternal  torture  on  account  of 
Adam  doing  that  little  thing,  shocked  his  sense  of 
justice  and  right.  But  with  fear  and  trembling  he 
tried  to  cast  out  the  thought  that  it  was  unjust.  His 
conscience  upbraided  him  for  daring  to  think  that 
God  could  be  unjust.  He  was  such  a  little  boy.  He 
did  not  know  about  these  things,  and  it  was  wicked 
for  him  to  be  questioning  the  right  and  wrong  of 
what  the  bible  said.  Some  day  when  he  got  older 
he  would  understand  it  all.  Of  course  his  father  un 
derstood  it,  but  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  ask 
his  father  or  even  his  mother  about  it,  for  fear  his 
father  would  think  he  was  questioning  God's  jus 
tice.  He  tried  to  quit  thinking  about  it  till  he  should 
arrive  at  an  age  when  he  could  understand  it,  but  the 
subject  would  not  down.  In  his  waking  hours  and  in 
his  dreams  he  was  confronted  by  that  awful  couplet 
and  the  terrific  implication  it  contained.  Of  course 
his  father  and  mother  would  be  saved,  but  his  sister 
Mary — Mary  wasn't  very  religious,  he  was  afraid,  and 
the  heat  would  be  awfully  hard  on  her,  too,  for  Mary 
couldn't  stand  pain  very  well.  For  himself  he  had 
no  hope;  if  he  should  die  now  he  was  doomed.  He  felt 


50  THE     LAKGEB     FAITH 

in  his  inmost  soul  that  he  had  never  properly  ite- 
pented  of  Adam's  sin.  His  only  hope  was  that  hq 
might  live  until  some  time  when  he  could  become  re 
generated.  He  wished  he  could  do  it  now,  but  he 
couldn't. 

With  all  his  doubts  and  fears,  John  strove  man 
fully  to  do  what  was  right  as  he  understood  it.  At 
Sunday  school  he  was  taught  to  say:  "Thou  God 
seest  me"  in  times  of  temptation,  and  for  a  long  time 
he  repeated  this  to  himself  many  times  each  day,  and 
tried  sincerely  to  bear  it  constantly  in  mind  as  a  regu 
lation  of  his  conduct. 

When  he  was  seven  years  old  his  mother  noticed 
one  evening  that  something  was  wrong  with  him.  He 
could  not  eat  his  supper;  tears  came  to  his  eyes  fre 
quently,  and  he  could  hardly  talk.  His  mother  said 
nothing  to  him  until  he  had  gone  to  bed,  where  she 
soon  followed  him.  John  was  kneeling  at  his  bed  in 
an  agony  of  grief. 

"Why,  John,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  his  mother, 
seating  herself  beside  him  and  laying  her  hand  on  his 
head. 

"Oh,  mother!    I'm  a  thief!"  wailed  the  boy. 

"What  have  you  stolen,  my  son?"  asked  his  mother. 

"An  apple,  'nd  I  ate  it,"  sobbed  John. 

"Try  to  quit  crying,"  said  his  mother,  "and  tell  me 
about  it,  dear." 

"Me  'nd  Tommy  Snider — went  to  the  creek — 'nd 


DARRELL  51 

comin'  home  we — went  into  Deacon  Hargrave's  or 
chard  'nd — both  stole  an  apple." 

"Have  you  asked  God  to  forgive  you?"  said  his 
mother. 

"Oh,  yes!  but  I  know  he  never  will.  I'm  as  bad  as 
Adam.  He  never  forgave  Adam,  'nd  He's  never  for 
given  the  people  since  for  what  Adam  did.  God's  es 
pecially  particular  about  apples,"  replied  John.  The 
child  was  absolutely  sincere. 

The  utter  hopelessness  of  his  case  had  quieted  him 
somewhat;  he  was  in  a  state  of  stony  despair.  He 
knew  himself  to  be  beyond  redemption;  he  was  con 
vinced  that  but  one  fate  awaited  him,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  right  and  proper  that  the  punishment  should 
follow  close  on  the  heels  of  the  sin. 

Mrs.  Darrell  had  placed  the  child  on  the  bed  with 
his  head  in  her  lap.  Stroking  the  little  head,  she  hesi 
tated.  Should  she  comfort  the  anguished  spirit  by 
saying  frankly  what  was  in  her  mind  to  say?  Would 
she  dare  do  or  say  anything  which  might  tend  to 
weaken  the  beliefs  with  which  the  child's  mind  had 
been  imbued  from  infancy?  Would  not  her  husband 
strongly  disapprove  and  even  denounce  any  such  ac 
tion  on  her  part?  The  mother's  heart  bled  for  the 
sufferings  of  her  son,  but  she  was  in  doubt  how  best  to 
comfort  him.  For  a  long  time  she  sat  there  wonder 
ing  what  was  right  for  her  to  do.  The  question  was 
solved  for  her,  at  least  for  the  time.  Overtaxed  na- 


52  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

ture  had  asserted  itself  in  the  reasonably  healthy  body 
of  the  child.  John  slept. 

The  sorrows  of  children  are  very  real  and  very 
acute,  but  nature  has  wisely  provided  that  they  shall 
be  short-lived.  In  the  course  of  time  John  began  to 
wonder  whether  after  all  he  had  done  such  a  terrible 
tiling;  then  he  had  a  feeling  of  sympathy,  almost  one 
of  comradeship,  for  Adam.  In  extenuation  of  Adam's 
sin  he  reflected  that,  although  Adam  was  a  grown  man, 
still  he  was  quite  young  at  the  time  of  the  offense,  and 
perhaps  didn't  know  any  better  about  right  and  wrong 
than  a  little  boy  of  the  present  day.  Finally  a  time 
came  when  the  recollection  of  the  apple  affair  was  not 
painful  to  him,  although  he  supposed  it  had  left  a 
scar  on  his  soul.  He  had  been  taught  that  every  sin 
leaves  a  scar  on  the  soul. 

As  time  progressed  his  general  character  was  much 
the  same.  He  wanted  to  do  right.  There  was  nothing 
vicious  about  him.  Still  there  was  a  gradual  weak 
ening  in  some  of  the  things  he  had  believed  so  im 
plicitly  as  a  child,  and  a  loss  of  interest  in  what  he 
had  regarded  as  religion.  He  observed  this  change 
in  himself  and  attributed  it  to  the  general  depravity 
of  man  originating  in  Adam's  fall. 

In  the  meantime  he  was  making  fair  progress  in 
physical  growth  and  doing  well  in  his  studies  at 
school.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  years  he  was  a  well- 
grown  lad  and  had  entered  upon  the  second  year  of 


DABRELL  53 

the  local  high-school  course.  In  that  year  two  events 
occurred  which,  with  the  train  of  incidents  that  en 
sued,  were  destined  to  prove  momentous  in  his  life. 

His  sister  Mary  was  already  a  young  woman,  and 
for  a  year  or  two  had  been  going  out  in  society,  as  it 
was  locally  termed.  Her  father  was  quite  strict  with 
her  and  had  somewhat  limited  views  as  to  the  kind 
of  gatherings  to  which  it  was  proper  for  a  young 
woman  to  go.  Still,  Mary  managed  to  attend  a  dance 
now  and  then,  and  numbers  of  socials  and  parties  of 
various  kinds  where  young  people  meet.  Indeed, 
Mary,  who  resembled  her  father  in  features  as  well  as 
in  character,  was  very  much  disposed  to  have  her  own 
way  in  matters  social,  and  when,  as  sometimes  hap 
pened,  her  opinion  and  her  father's  did  not  agree,  it 
usually  resulted  in  the  elder  giving  way  to  the 
younger.  It  so  happened  that  a  few  months  previous 
to  the  time  of  which  we  are  speaking  Mary  had  met 
a  young  man  from  a  neighboring  town,  named  George 
Motley.  He  was  of  good  parentage,  fairly  well-to-do, 
and  unobjectionable  to  Mary's  parents  in  all  respects 
save  one,  but  that  one  was  in  the  eyes  of  Thomas 
Darrell  a  fatal  objection.  It  was  generally  known  and 
talked  about  that  Motley  had  at  home  "The  Crisis," 
''The  Rights  of  Man"  and  "The  Age  of  Reason,"  works 
written  by  Thomas  Paine.  It  was  further  known  that 
Motley  had  not  only  said  these  were  works  which 
young  men  ought  to  read,  but  that  he  had  insisted  in 


54  THE     LAEGER     FAITH 

an  argument  with  the  minister  that  the  author  of 
these  works  was  a  patriotic  citizen  and  a  much-ca* 
lumniated  man. 

The  mere  thought  of  his  daughter  marrying  a  man 
with  such  heretical  views  was  gall  and  wormwood  to 
Thomas  Darrell.  Meeting  Motley  on  the  street  one 
day  in  company  with  his  daughter,  he  publicly  or 
dered  him  never  to  speak  to  her  again;  then  taking 
his  daughter's  arm  he  hurried  her  home.  The  old  re 
sult  followed.  Within  three  weeks  Mary  and  her 
lover  had  eloped,  and  Mary  Darrell  became  Mrs. 
George  Motley. 

What  Thomas  Darrell  underwent  during  that  year 
none  but  himself  knew.  A  few  days  after  Mary's  de 
parture  Mrs.  Darrell  gently  suggested  that  they  call 
the  young  folks  home  and  forget  all  differences.  Her 
husband  met  her  with  a  stern  refusal,  saying  they 
should  never  set  foot  in  his  house  and  he  never 
wanted  to  hear  the  name  of  his  daughter  mentioned 
again.  Mrs.  Darrell  wept  and  was  silent.  But  Thomas 
Darrell  was  stricken.  From  the  time  the  knowledge 
of  what  he  looked  upon  as  his  great  misfortune  came 
to  him,  he  was  a  changed  man.  His  austerity  was 
greater  than  before,  but  his  confidence  was  gone.  He 
sincerely  believed  that  the  life  he  had  lived  entitled 
him  to  better  treatment  at  the  hands  of  Providence. 
He  turned  to  his  bible  and  tried  to  read  Job,  but  it 
was  as  dry  chaff  to  him. 


DARRELL  65 

All  his  life  he  had  been  grasping  at  shadows  and 
missing  the  substance;  all  his  life  he  had  been  looking 
upon  a  mere  outward  observance  of  form  for  the  thing 
itself  which  the  form  only  represented.  All  his  life 
he  had  been  observing  the  letter  and  wholly  missing 
the  spirit  of  the  law. 

His  physical  health  gave  way  rapidly  and  a  few 
weeks  after  his  daughter's  disappearance  from  home 
he  took  to  his  bed.  The  doctors  said  his  trouble  was 
general  collapse  and  lack  of  vitality.  These  terms  an^ 
swered  as  well  as  any  other,  for  it  was  before  the  time 
when  appendicitis  became  the  name  of  every  unknown 
ill  that  flesh  is  heir  to. 

Ten  days  after  taking  to  his  bed  his  family  were 
gathered  around  him.  It  was  never  known  whether  he 
recognized  his  daughter.  He  died  as  he  had  lived,  and 
for  many  years  his  example  was  cited  to  the  little  boys 
in  the  Sunday  school  as  one  worthy  their  emulation. 

The  months  following  his  father's  death  were  to 
John  Darrell  a  time  of  peculiar  peace  and  quiet, 
though  his  life  up  to  that  time  could  not  be  said  to 
have  been  a  turbulent  one.  Between  him  and  his 
mother  there  had  always  existed  the  warmest  sym 
pathy  and  affection.  John  was  his  mother's  boy.  As 
those  who  knew  the  family  said,  Mary  was  her  fath 
er's  child,  while  John  had  "taken  after"  his  mother. 
Mary  and  her  husband  were  frequent  visitors,  Mrs. 
Darrell  never  having  felt  any  resentment  toward 


56  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

either  of  them.  John  thought  his  sister  better  as  a 
woman  than  she  had  been  as  a  girl  at  home — especial 
ly  in  the  last  few  years.  She  was  gentler,  more  kindly, 
and  John  felt  for  her  a  greater  affection  than  he  had 
known  before. 

Mrs.  Darrell  and  her  son  attended  church  regularly, 
and  he  kept  up  his  attendance  at  Sunday  school.  At 
home,  however,  family  prayers  and  the  asking  of 
blessings  at  meals  were  discontinued.  Frequently  in 
the  evenings,  at  his  mother's  request,  John  would  read 
aloud  a  chapter  in  the  bible,  usually  one  in  the  new 
testament.  He  sometimes  felt  guilty  at  the  conscious 
ness  that,  for  him  at  least,  the  home  atmosphere  was 
improved  by  the  absence  of  his  father.  He  tried  to 
dismiss  the  feeling  as  being  unworthy  and  even 
wicked,  and  made  no  attempt  to  analyze  or  account 
for  it,  which  he  probably  could  not  have  done  then 
had  he  tried,  though  the  explanation  was  very  simple. 
Love  had  superseded  fear  in  that  household. 

John  was  now  nearly  seventeen  years  old.  His 
father's  estate  was  insufficient  to  keep  him  longer  at 
school.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should  go  to  work. 
He  was  casting  about  for  something  to  do,  when  hit? 
mother  received  a  call  from  a  Mr.  Conway,  a  former 
friend  and  business  associate  of  Thomas  Darrell,  who, 
a  few  years  before,  had  removed  to  Ohio.  Before  leav^ 
ing,  Mr.  Conway  offered  to  take  John  home  with  him, 
give  him  employment  that  would  a  little  more  than 


DARRELL  57 

pay  his  expenses  the  first  year,  and  also  afford  him  an 
opportunity  to  attend  a  good  business  college  in  the 
evenings.  After  brief  consideration  by  John  and  his 
mother  the  offer  was  accepted,  and  a  few  days  later, 
having  taken  an  affectionate  farewell  of  his  mother 
and  sister,  John  left  home  to  accompany  Mr.  Con- 
way  to  the  city  of  C in  Ohio. 

The  incidents  of  the  journey  need  not  be  recorded, 
though  they  were  highly  interesting  to  John.  Neither 
need  we  dwell  upon  the  details  of  his  business  life. 
Suffice  it  to  say  he  succeeded  in  pleasing  his  em 
ployers  and  at  the  time  we  first  met  him  occupied  the 
position  of  confidential  clerk  in  the  banking  and 
brokerage  establishment  of  Wirt,  Conway  &  Co.,  in 
whose  employ  he  had  begun  as  errand  boy. 

"When  he  first  entered  upon  his  new  life  after  leav 
ing  home  he  attended  the  church  to  which  his  parents 
had  belonged.  After  awhile  he  began  going  to  other 
churches  occasionally.  He  was  listening  to  sermons 
now.  He  had  heard  great  numbers  of  them  in  his 
younger  days,  but  not  many  of  them  had  caught  his 
attention.  When  at  the  end  of  three  years  he  first 
visited  his  mother  he  told  her,  in  answer  to  her  in 
quiry,  that  he  usually  went  to  church  on  Sundays,  but 
did  not  attend  any  one  church  regularly.  The  tmth 
is,  for  some  time  he  had  been  getting  restive.  To  him 
there  seemed  to  be  a  hollowness  and  an  insincerity 
.about  the  sermons  he  heard.  The  more  he  thought 


58  THE     LARGER     FATTH 

about  it  and  compared  the  teachings  of  the  dift^rent 
churches  the  more  hollow  and  insincere  it  all  seemed. 
Finally  he  got  to  the  point  where  he  said  to  himself: 
"I  don't  believe  it!" 

He  conceived  an  aversion  for  churches  and  for 
what  he  thought  was  religion.  He  distrusted  those 
who  were  reputed  persons  of  great  piety.  When  once 
in  awhile  he  listened  to  a  sermon  he  criticised  the 
preachers  as  shams  and  hypocrites.  And  yet  was  it  all 
a  lie?  Was  there  no  truth  in  it?  He  believed  his 
father  to  have  been  a  sincere  man;  he  was  sure  his 
mother  was  entirely  sincere.  He  knew  many  church 
members  whom  he  could  not  look  upon  as  hypocrites. 
But  how  much  of  it  all  was  true?  How  much  was 
false?  He  decided  to  put  aside  the  whole  subject. 
He  would  not  think  about  it  or  worry  over  it.  He 
would  dismiss  all  prejudice  concerning  it  and  content 
himself  by  saying,  "I  don't  know." 

At  the  time  of  meeting  William  Young  the  little 
boy  who  had  so  often  and  so  devoutly  repeated  "Thou 
God  seest  me"  had  come  to  believe  himself  an  ag 
nostic. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHITEFOOT. 

After  DarrelPs  departure,  Young  resumed  the  even 
tenor  of  his  former  solitary  life.  He  was  not  lonely, 
or  if  he  was  he  showed  no  signs  of  it.  He  kept  him 
self  employed  either  with  his  work  or  with  his  books 
and  periodical  literature.  His  work  was  not  arduous. 
He  had  not  a  large  amount  of  stock  but  what  he  had 
received  a  degree  of  care  and  attention  unusual  in 
that  part  of  the  country.  He  had  put  up  shelters  for 
his  cattle  and  sheep,  which  most  stockmen  in  that 
section  deemed  entirely  unnecessary.  He  was  what 
eastern  people  call  "forehanded"  with  his  work. 
Whatever  needed  doing  he  did  well  and  did  it  at  the 
time  it  ought  to  be  done.  When  he  had  no  special 
work  on  hand  he  was  not  an  early  riser.  He  often 
read  till  twelve  or  even  one  o'clock  at  night,  and  got 
up  the  next  morning  when  he  felt  rested.  In  other 
respects  his  life  was  as  regular  as  that  of  a  soldier  in 
barracks,  and  in  the  care  of  his  person  and  of  his 
house  he  was  as  precise  as  if  he  were  looking  for  an 
inspector  to  drop  in  at  any  time. 


SO  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

He  received  a  letter  from  Darrell  six  weeks  after 
the  latter's  departure  from  the  ranch,  saying  he  had 
arrived  safe  at  home  without  further  accident  and 
that  his  ankle  had  fully  recovered  and  was  as  good  as 
new.  In  closing  he  said :  "I  will  write  you  at  greater 
length  before  long.  The  fact  is,  I  want  you  to  give  me 
your  views  on  some  matters  touched  upon  in  the 
talks  we  had,  if  it  will  not  he  asking  too  much  of 
you."  Young  answered  this  letter,  saying,  among 
other  things:  "You  are  welcome  to  any  views  I  have 
which  you  think  may  be  of  use  to  you.  I  shall  be 
glad  to  hear  from  you  at  any  time,  and  you  know  I 
have  at  my  disposal  ample  time  to  write." 

One  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  October  a  visitor 
appeared,  the  first  since  Darrell  had  left.  He  was  a 
boy  who  looked  to  be  about  seventeen  years  old,  and 
he  presented  a  sorry  appearance.  His  clothes  were 
old  and  dirty  and  looked  as  though  they  had  not  been 
taken  off  for  an  indefinite  time.  On  his  head  was 
what  had  once  been  a  black  felt  hat,  now  shapeless 
and  with  several  holes  in  the  crown.  The  soles  of  his 
shoes  were  almost  entirely  worn  off,  and  around  one 
foot  was  wrapped  a  piece  of  gunny-sack,  which  was 
held  in  place  with  baling-wire.  Slung  over  his  shoul 
der  he  carried  a  dirty-looking  gray  blanket,  rolled 
up  and  tied  with  a  piece  of  rope.  His  face  was  thin 
and  hungry  looking,  and  his  eyes  had  in  them  a  fur 
tive,  hunted  look.  He  asked  for  something  to  eat  in 


WHITEFOOT  61 

a  manner  which  plainly  indicated  that  the  answer 
would  be  a  matter  of  immense  importance  to  him. 
Upon  receiving  Young's  prompt  affirmative  reply  and 
an  invitation  to  enter,  his  face  took  on  an  eager  look, 
and  laying  his  blanket  down  by  the  door-step  he  fol 
lowed  Young  into  the  house. 

"You  might  wash  there,"  said  Young,  indicating 
the  washstand,  "while  I  set  out  something." 

The  boy  hastily  washed  his  hands  and  face,  but 
seemed  in  doubt  as  to  whether  he  ought  to  take  hold 
of  the  clean  towel. 

"Use  it,"  said  Young,  seeing  his  hesitation. 

"Which  way  are  you  traveling?"  asked  Young, 
when  the  boy  had  finished  washing. 

"To  Texas,"  replied  the  boy,  "where  my  folks  live." 

"A  little  out  of  the  ordinary  lines  of  travel,  aren't 
you?"  suggested  Young. 

"I  guess  I  am,"  said  the  boy  with  some  confusion; 
"I  don't  know  the  roads  through  here  very  well." 

Nothing  more  was  said  till  Young  told  the  boy  to 
be  seated  at  the  table  and  help  himself,  which  he  did 
in  a  way  that  was  at  once  astonishing  and  pitiful  to 
Young.  He  attacked  the  victuals  like  a  half-starved 
animal,  which  indeed  he  was.  There  was  an  ample 
amount  of  food  on  the  table,  and  when  the  boy  had 
eaten  what  would  have  been  a  hearty  meal  for  two 
ordinary  men,  Young  said:  "My  boy,  I  think  you'd 


62  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

better  not  eat  any  more  now.  When  did  you  last  have 
anything  to  eat?" 

"Yesterday,"  said  the  boy,  "and  not  much  then." 

"Well,"  said  Young,  "you'll  have  plenty  before 
you  leave  here;  but  for  this  time  let  that  do." 

The  boy  quit  reluctantly,  but  appeared  relieved  as 
he  asked,  "Will  you  feed  me  again  in  the  morning, 
and  can  I  sleep  in  your  corral  ?" 

"Yes,  in  the  morning  you  may  eat  all  you  want; 
and  I'll  find  you  a  place  to  sleep,"  answered  Young. 

In  answer  to  questions  the  boy  said  his  name  was 
Joe  Smith;  that  he  had  helped  take  a  drove  of  cat 
tle  from  Texas  north  through  New  Mexico  to  Colo 
rado,  and  was  on  his  way  back  home. 

Young  forbore  questioning  him  closely,  seeing 
that  he  was  made  uncomfortable  by  being  asked  about 
himself,  and  thinking  it  probable  that  the  answers 
he  had  given  were  untrue.  Soon  the  boy  said:  "If 
you'll  let  me,  now,  I'll  take  my  blanket  down  to  the 
corral  and  find  a  place  to  bunk;  I'm  pretty  tired." 

"You  can  sleep  here,"  said  Young,  "but  I  think 
you'd  better  wash  first.  You've  been  sleeping  in  those 
clothes,  haven't  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy;  "I  ain't  had  them  off  for  a 
good  while." 

"Well,  a  warm  bath  will  not  do  you  any  harm," 
said  Young.  Then  placing  on  the  floor  a  large  tin 
pan  with  warm  water  in  it  he  went  to  the  bed-room 


WHITEFOOT  63 

and  returned  with  towels  and  a  woolen  night-shirt. 
'Tut  this  on,"  he  said,  "when  you  have  got  yourself 
as  clean  as  you  can,  and  get  into  the  bed  that  has  the 
covers  turned  down,  in  that  room.  Leave  your  clothes 
on  the  floor  here.  They'll  not  be  disturbed  till  you 
get  them  in  the  morning." 

The  next  morning,  in  answer  to  Young's  inquiry. 
the  boy  said  he  had  never  had  a  better  night's  sleep. 
When  he  was  about  to  put  on  the  remnants  of  his 
shoes,  Young  handed  him  a  pair  of  his  own  old  ones, 
but  which  looked  new  beside  those  the  boy  had  been 
wearing,  saying,  "Try  these  on." 

"May  I  have  these?"  asked  the  pleased  boy. 

"Yes,  if  you  can  wear  them,"  answered  Young. 

"Oh,  they  fit  like  they  had  been  made  for  me,"  re 
plied  the  boy,  putting  on  one  shoe;  "only  they're  a 
little  long;  but  that  won't  matter." 

After  breakfast,  which  was  a  hearty  one,  the  boy 
asked  if  there  was  any  work  he  could  do  to  pay  for  his 
meals  and  lodging,  and  seemed  disappointed  on  being 
told  there  was  none.  Noticing  that  the  boy  limpet 
as  he  walked,  Young  asked  if  he  was  lame. 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy,  "I'm  a  little  stiff  and  my  feet 
are  sore.  It  wasn't  any  fun  walking  in  them  old 
shoes." 

"You'd  better  rest  over  to-day  and  start  i*  the 
morning,  if  you're  not  in  a  hurry,"  said  Young. 


64  THE     LAKQER     FAITH 

"I'm  not  in  any  hurry,  but  you've  done  about 
enough  for  me,"  answered  the  boy,  hesitatingly. 

"That  is  all  right,"  said  Young;  "we're  here  to  help 
each  other.  You  just  do  a  good  turn  to  some  one  else 
when  you  have  a  chance." 

"You  bet  I'll  do  that — on  your  account,"  answered 
the  boy  with  some  fervor,  looking  gratefully  at 
Young. 

That  day  was  one  of  the  happiest  the  boy  had 
known.  Sauntering  idly  about  the  place  he  inspected 
all  its  appointments  with  that  natural  interest  in  little 
things  which  is  common  to  boys,  and  which  men  do 
well  to  retain.  The  fences,  the  buildings  and  sheds, 
the  way  the  doors  and  gates  were  hung  and  fastened — 
these  and  many  other  things  about  the  place  received 
his  admiring  criticism.  It  was  the  domestic  animals 
about  the  place,  though,  that  most  astonished  the  boy. 
Most  of  them  showed  but  little  shyness  toward  him, 
and  he  observed  that  none  of  them,  from  the  fowls  to 
the  two  milch-cows,  showed  the  least  fear  of  his  host. 
The  latter,  as  he  went  about  among  .them,  patting 
one  on  the  head,  picking  a  burr  from  the  hair  of  an 
other  and  talking  to  them  meanwhile,  seemed  to  have 
the  entire  confidence  of  them  all. 

"I  never  seen  stock  so  tame,"  said  the  boy.  "How'd 
you  get  'em  that  way?" 

"Oh,  it's  because  they  like  me,"  said  Young,  smil 
ing. 


WHITEFOOT  65 

Seeing  a  quantity  of  salt  in  a  trough  under  an  open 
shed,  and  some  of  the  animals  helping  themselves  to 
it,  amazed  the  boy. 

"I  always  thought  they'd  kill  themselves  drinking 
water  if  they  had  all  the  salt  they  wanted/'  he  said. 

"Not  if  they  have  it  regularly,"  said  Young.  The 
boy  concluded  that  an  abundance  of  salt  must  be 
conducive  to  tameness  in  animals. 

As  he  was  about  to  start  on  his  journey  the  next 
morning,  having  expressed  his  thanks  somewhat  awk 
wardly  but  with  much  heartiness,  Young  handed  him 
a  paper  package  containing  some  bread  and  cold 
meat,  saying:  "You  may  need  this."  Tears  of  grati 
tude  stood  in  the  boy's  eyes  as  he  said:  "I'd  like  to 
know  your  name." 

"William  Young,"  was  the  reply. 

"Well,  good-by,  Mr.  Young.  I'll  not  forget  to  do 
a  favor  to  somebody  on  your  account,  when  I  have 
a  chance,"  said  the  boy. 

"Do  it  on  your  own  account,  as  well  as  mine,"  said 
Young.  "Good-by,  Joe." 

As  the  boy  wended  his  way  southward  he  thought 
of  William  Young.  "I  wish  I  hadn't  told  him  what 
I  did,"  he  said  to  himself.  "My!  what  if  I  could' ve 
got  a  job  and  stayed  there!  But  then  he  said  he  had 
no  work  for  me.  Well,  I'll  not  forget  that  name — nor 
the  man  either." 

Until  nearly  noon  he  traveled  without  incident. 


66  THE     LAEGER     FAITH 

He  judged  he  had  walked  about  ten  miles — though  in 
reality  he  had  not  gone  so  far — when  he  noticed  seven 
or  eight  horses  approaching  from  the  east,  led  by  an 
iron-gray  with  a  peculiar  gait.  He  stood  still  and 
watched  them,,  in  doubt  whether  they  meant  to  run 
him  down.  They  seemed  to  have  no  other  than 
friendly  intentions,  however.  They  all  came  close  to 
where  he  stood,  while  the  gray  and  a  white-faced 
sorrel  came  directly  up  to  him  and  began  nosing 
about  his  clothes  as  if  trying  to  get  at  the  contents 
of  his  pockets. 

"Well,  you're  good  ones,"  said  the  boy;  then,  a  mo 
ment  later:  "What's  the  matter  with  one  of  you 
carrying  me  a  piece?"  There  seemed  to  be  nothing 
the  matter  with  it;  or  if  there  was  neither  of  the 
horses  made  it  known.  Untying  the  rope  which  was 
wrapped  about  his  blanket  and  making  a  loop  at  one 
end  of  it,  he  cogitated.  "If  I  take  this  gray,  the  whole 
bunch  will  follow,  and  I  may  get  them  off  their  range; 
if  I  take  the  sorrel  he'll  come  back  when  I  turn  him 
loose  and  there'll  be  no  harm  done.  I'll  try  the 
sorrel." 

Slipping  the  loop  into  the  horse's  mouth,  passing 
the  rope  over  his  head  and  through  the  loop,  he  tied 
a  knot  and  had  a  very  fair  bridle,  though  it  had  but 
one  rein.  The  horse  allowed  the  boy  to  place  the 
blanket  on  him  and  then  to  mount,  and  proved  to  be 
easily  guided  with  the  single  rein.  When  he  had 


WHITEFOOT  67 

walked  the  horse  some  distance,  he  struck  him  a  light 
blow  with  the  end  of  the  rope  and  the  horse  at  once 
broke  into  a  free,  swinging  lope.  "This  beats  walk 
ing,"  thought  the  boy.  He  felt  such  pleasure  and  ex 
hilaration  in  riding  that  he  never  thought  of  his 
lunch  till  about  two  o'clock,  when  he  came  to  a  small 
stream  of  water.  "I'll  turn  the  horse  loose  and  eat 
my  grub  here,"  he  said  to  himself.  Dismounting,  he 
noticed  for  the  first  time  that  the  horse  was  much 
heated  by  his  fast  riding.  "It'll  hurt  him  to  drink 
while  he's  so  warm,"  said  the  boy  to  himself.  "I'll 
tie  him  while  I  eat  and  then  turn  him  loose." 

Alas!  for  the  weakness  of  human  nature.  Like 
many  another  who  has  left  the  path  of  rectitude  with 
out  any  evil  design  and  with  the  full  intention  of 
quickly  returning,  the  temptation  to  keep  on  just  a 
little  further  was  too  much  for  the  boy.  When  he 
had  eaten  his  lunch  and  watered  the  horse  he  in 
tended  to  ride  only  to  the  top  of  a  hill  in  sight  and 
about  two  miles  away;  then  to  another  hill;  and  then 
till  the  sun  reached  the  top  of  the  mountains,  which 
would  be  about  five  o'clock,  when  he  would,  for  sure, 
turn  the  horse  loose.  What  he  might  finally  have 
done  can  be  only  a  matter  of  conjecture.  While  the 
sun  was  still  half  an  hour  above  the  mountain-tops 
he  rode  over  a  ridge  and  found  himself  within  a  few 
rods  of  two  cow-boys,  who  were  riding  directly  toward 
him. 


68  THE     LAEGEB     FAITH 

The  boy's  feelings  at  that  moment  could  be  ade 
quately  described  only  by  a  man  who  has  been  se 
curely  tied  on  a  railroad  track  with  the  headlight  of 
an  approaching  train  in  sight,  He  knew  enough 
about  the  customs  of  that  country  to  understand  that 
one  caught  horse-stealing  was  not  indicted  or  tried 
in  any  court  of  justice;  his  body  was  simply  found 
next  morning  hanging  to  a  tree.  He  also  realized 
fully  that  the  distance  he  had  ridden  the  horse 
precluded  the  idea  of  the  truth  being  accepted  as  any 
defense  to  the  charge  of  theft.  He  was  thoroughly 
scared;  and,  to  use  a  western  phrase,  "he  had  a  right 
to  be  scared."  He  felt  it  was  useless  to  attempt  to 
pass  them,  yet  he  tried  it.  But  one  of  the  cow-boys 
drew  rein  directly  across  the  path  and,  stopping  him, 
said:  "Hello,  kid,  where'd  you  get  that  horse?"  The 
boy  faintly  murmured  something  about  having  traded 
for  him. 

"Not  much!"  said  the  man.  "That's  Bill  Young's 
Whitefoot,  'nd  Bill  Young  hasn't  been  tradin'  with 
no  kid  like  you." 

"Bill  Young's  horse!"  exclaimed  the  boy.  In  jus 
tice  it  must  be  stated  that  for  the  moment  he  entirely 
forgot  his  own  danger  in  the  horror  of  the  knowledge 
that  he  had  robbed  the  man  who  had  shown  him 
kindness. 

Without  a  word  the  .cow-boy  reached  out  his  hand 


WHITEFOOT  69 

and  took  from  the  boy  the  rope  by  which  he  had  been 
guiding  the  horse. 

"No  use  tyin'  him,  is  there,  Bob?"  said  one  of  the 
men. 

"Naw!"  replied  the  one  addressed  as  Bob;  then 
turning  to  the  boy:  "You  understand  you'll  get 
bored  through  if  you  get  off  that  horse  or  try  to  run?" 
he  said. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  boy;  and  the  men  resumed 
their  journey,  one  of  them  leading  the  stolen  horse. 

"What'll  we  do  .with  him,  Bob?"  said  one. 

"Well,  accordin'  to  Hoyle  some  of  us'll  have  to 
take  him  to  Bill  Young's.  He's  got  a  right  to  a 
show,"  answered  Bob. 

"Well,"  replied  the  other,  "you'd  better  take  him 
up  to-morrow,  then;  'nd  you'd  best  take  an  extra 
horse  along  to  bring  him  back  on;  Young  wouldn't 
want  anything  to  happen  'round  there." 

So  it  was  all  quickly  arranged.  That  night  one  of 
the  men  with  a  big  revolver  tying  on  the  table  beside 
him  stood  guard,  or  rather  sat  guard,  over  the  boy; 
while  the  latter  dreamed  that  a  noose  was  around  his 
neck  with  the  rope  thrown  over  the  limb  of  a  tree  and 
in  the  hands  of  a  lot  of  men  who  were  about  to  pull 
him  up. 

Which,  indeed,  was  not  far  from  the  fact. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

NED   LONG. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  boy  awoke  from  a 
heavy  but  troubled  sleep,  his  guard  had  been 
changed,  and  a  man  whom  he  had  not  yet  seen,  but 
who  from  his  dress  and  appearance  was  evidently  a 
cow-boy,  was  watching  over  him. 

The  boy  had  not  taken  off  his  clothes,  and  as  he 
got  up  the  cow-boy  said  to  him:  "Want  some  break 
fast?" 

"No,"  said  the  boy,  "I'm  not  very  hungry." 

"Better  wash  yourself  'nd  eat  something;  you'll  feel 
better  for  it,"  said  his  guard. 

The  boy  complied  and  ate  a  few  mouthfuls,  but 
with  no  great  relish  for  the  food. 

"Say,  kid,"  said  the  guard  to  him  when  he  had 
done  eating,  "you  ain't  got  no  way  of  squarin'  this 
thing  when  you  get  up  to  Young's,  have  you?" 

"I  suppose  not,"  answered  the  boy,  dejectedly. 

"That's  about  the  way  I  sized  it  up,"  said  his  guard. 
"Tell  you  what  I'd  do  if  I  was  in  your  place,"  he  con 
tinued,  lowering  his  voice.  "If  I  didn't  get  a  chance 


NED     LONG  71 

to  slip  away  up  at  Young's  I'd  make  a  show  of  tum- 
blin'  off  the  horse  and  startin'  to  run,  on  the  way 
back." 

"What  for?"  said  the  boy.    "He'd  shoot  me." 

"Sure  thing!"  answered  his  adviser;  "but  Bob's  a 
good  shot,  'nd  the  chances  is  there'd  be  no  sufferin'. 
If  I  had  to  pass  in  my  checks  I'd  a  whole  lot  sooner 
do  it  that  way  than  lookin'  up  a  rope."  With  which 
well-meant  suggestions  the  cow-boy  relapsed  into  si 
lence,  feeling  that  he  had  given  the  boy  good,  fatherly 
advice. 

In  the  preceding  half  year  several  valuable  horses 
had  been  stolen  within  a  radius  of  fifty  miles;  and  it 
had  for  some  time  been  understood  among  all  the 
ranchmen  and  stockmen  of  that  section  that  when 
they  first  succeeded  in  catching  a  horse-thief  they 
would  "hang  his  hide  on  the  fence." 

"I  kind  o'  hate  to  see  the  kid  strung  up,"  mused  the 
cow-boy  to  himself;  "but  it  wouldn't  do  to  let  him  go, 
leastways  not  open.  His  chances  of  gettin'  away  from 
Bob  is  just  about  the  same  as  the  chances  of  the  ace 
winnin'  five  times  in  one  deal.  The  house  has  got  a 
big  percentage  in  the  game  he's  playin'  right  now." 

His  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival  at 
the  door  of  Bob  Thompson,  with  two  horses  saddled 
and  bridled,  and  leading  the  white-faced  sorrel  which 
the  boy  had  ridden  the  day  before.  Having  placed 
the  boy  on  one  of  the  horses,  Bob  mounted  the  other, 


72  THE     LAEGER     FAITH 

and  leading  the  sorrel  started  for  Young's  ranch. 
He  declined  to  have  the  boy's  feet  tied  in  the  stirrups, 
remarking  drily  that  it  would  be  time  enough  to  tie 
him  on  in  case  anything  should  happen  on  the  way 
that  he  couldn't  sit  up. 

During  the  journey  but  little  conversation  was  had; 
and  Bob  refrained  from  asking  the  boy  any  questions 
or  making  any  reference  to  his  situation.  "They  ain't 
no  use  rubbin'  it  in  on  him/'  reasoned  Bob  to  him 
self. 

They  arrived  at  Young's  place  shortly  before  noon. 
Young  saw  them  coming,,  and  was  standing  in  front 
of  his  place  when  they  arrived.  Seeing  his  horse  and 
the  boy  brought  there  together,  he  guessed  something 
of  the  truth  before  anything  was  said.  In  a  moment 
he  thought  of  Father  Myriel  and  the  stolen  candle 
sticks. 

"Hello,  Young!  how  you  stackin'  up?"  said  Bob. 

"First-rate;  how  is  it  with  you,  Bob?"  replied 
Young,  as  the  two  shook  hands.  "Good  morning, 
Joe,"  he  added,  to  the  boy. 

"Know  the  kid?"  asked  Bob. 

"Yes,  somewhat,"  replied  Young,  guardedly. 

"We  found  him.  ridin'  Whitefoot  down  by  the  H.  0. 
ranch  yesterday  'nd  gathered  him  in,"  said  Bob. 

With  a  grieved  countenance  Young  looked  at  the 
boy,  but  made  no  remark. 

"I  never  knowed "  began  the  boy,  but  some- 


NED     LONG  73 

thing  choked  his  utterance,  and  he  sat  on  the  horse 
the  picture  of  misery,  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks. 

"Well,  let  us  put  up  the  horses,"  said  Young. 

"You  go  to  the  house,  kid,  and  stay  there  till  we 
come,"  commanded  Bob. 

But  few  words  passed  between  Young  and  Thomp 
son  as  they  cared  for  the  horses.  Young  was  troubled 
in  spirit.  He  sincerely  wished  the  boy  had  got  clear 
out  of  that  section  of  country  with  the  horse,  though 
he  was  much  disappointed  that  the  boy  would  steal. 
In  answer  to  Bob's  question  as  to  his  acquaintance 
with  the  boy,  he  said,  evasively,  that  the  latter  had 
passed  his  place  a  day  or  two  before.  The  fact  that 
the  horse  had  been  stolen  after  the  thief  had  been  en 
tertained  by  him  would  add,  he  knew,  to  the  cer 
tainty  of  a  conviction — if  that  were  not  already  cer 
tain. 

Two  or  three  times,  as  Young  went  about  prepar 
ing  dinner,  the  boy  seemed  about  to  address  him. 
Each  time,  however,  he  merely  gulped,  looked  at 
Thompson  and  remained  silent. 

After  dinner  the  three  went  into  the  sitting-room, 
where  Bob  deftly  rolled  and  smoked  one  cigarette 
after  another;  Young,  after  walking  up  and  down  the 
room  awhile,  got  a  pipe  and  also  began  smoking; 
while  the  boy  sat  looking  and  feeling  much  like  a 
mouse  which  a  cat  has  played  with  awhile  and  then 
turned  loose  to  see  if  it  will  run.  Occasionally  Bob 


74  THE     LAKGER     FAITH 

made  a  remark  on  some  local  topic, but  Young  seemed 
preoccupied  and  -answered  in  monosyllables. 

At  length  Bob  remarked:  "Well,  I  'xpect  me  'nd 
the  kid  had  better  be  gettin'  back  to  the  H.  0." 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Young,  knocking  the  ashes 
from  his  pipe. 

"Well,  if  you  want  to,"  said  Bob.  Then,  with  a 
view  of  saving  his  friend  from  an  unpleasant  scene, 
he  added,  in  a  low  tone:  "Of  course,  it  ain't  neces 
sary  for  you  to  go.  We  all  know  who  the  horse  be 
longs  to." 

"Yes;  but  I'll  go  along,"  said  Young. 

"All  right,  then,"  replied  Bob. 

The  ride  back  was  almost  as  silent  as  the  one  Bob 
and  the  boy  had  taken  that  morning.  Young,  notic 
ing  that  the  boy  looked  pale  and  tired,  suggested  that 
they  dismount  and  rest  a  little  at  a  stream  crossing. 
It  was  the  place  where  the  boy  had  eaten  his  lunch 
the  day  before;  but  it  seemed  to  him  a  year  had  passed 
since  then. 

Since  the  arrival  of  Bob  and  the  boy,  Joe,  at  his 
ranch  that  morning,  Young  had  been  earnestly  medi 
tating  on  the  best  course  to  take.  He  knew  he  had 
the  good  will  and,  to  some  extent,  at  least,  the  con 
fidence  of  the  cow-men.  He  also  understood  them 
pretty  thoroughly,  and  knew  that  there  are  limits 
beyond  which  their  most  intimate  friends  cannot  go 
with  them.  And  this  was  a  case  where  interference 


NED     LONG  75 

seemed  worse  than  useless.  Young  would  readily 
have  given  not  only  the  stolen  horse  but  his  other 
property  as  well  to  save  the  boy;  but  he  felt  it  would 
be  as  useless  to  try  to  buy  the  liberty  of  the  defendant 
as  it  was  in  the  case  of  "Tennessee's  Pardner." 

The  genus  cow-boy,  unmixed  with  and  unmodified 
by  encroaching  civilization,  is  an  odd  combination 
of  qualities.  He  has  been  best  known — or  worst 
known — by  write-ups  detailing  his  sometimes  erratic 
conduct  when  off  the  range  and  off  duty.  It  is  prob 
ably  true  of  him  that  at  times  he  has  drunk  large 
quantities  of  very  bad  whisky,  shot  out  lights  at 
dance-halls,  ridden  his  broncho  into  buildings  and  bet 
heavily  at  faro. 

But  these  and  similar  doings  of  his  are  merely  the 
occasional  outbreaks  and  overflow  of  a  life  singularly 
exacting  and  devoted  to  duty.  He  is  clannish;  but  his 
clannishness  grows  out  of  his  loyalty  to  his  fellows. 
He  does  many  wild,  boisterous,  vicious  things;  but 
there  are  some  things  he  does  not  do,  and  one  of  them 
is  to  betray  a  trust  reposed  in  him  by  his  fellows.  He 
looks  upon  theft  of  stock  from  the  range  as  one  of 
the  most  serious  of  crimes;  and  he  was  never  bribed 
to  cast  a  vote  of  not  guilty  where  the  evidence  upon 
a  trial  for  that  offense  warranted  a  conviction.  He  will 
fight,  at  times  to  the  death,  for  he  is  not  afraid  to  die; 
and  "in  this  readiness  to  die  lies  folded  every  loyalty  of 
life."  None  can  be  more  generous  in  his  transactions 


76  THE     LAIIGER     FAITH 

with  a  friend;  none  more  relentless  in  dealing  with  a 
foe.  He  will  quarrel  over  a  ten-cent  stake  in  a  game, 
and  will  throw  away  a  year's  hard  earnings  in  a  night. 
Ready  at  all  times  to  make  any  exertion  or  endure 
any  hardships  for  one  of  his  fellows,  he  will  extermi 
nate  a  range  thief  with  as  little  compunction  as  he 
would  a  prairie  wolf.  Chivalrous  to  woman,  regard 
less  of  all  the  proprieties  in  his  intercourse  with  men, 
brave  even  to  recklessness,  with  the  most  scrupulous 
regard  for  property  rights  and  no  regard  at  all  for 
conventionalities,  the  right  cow-boy,  now  almost  ex 
tinct,  is  a  subject  worthy  the  pen  of  a  master. 

It  was  men  of  this  character  who  would  form  the 
tribunal  before  which  the  boy  was  to  be  tried  for  the 
theft  of  Whitefoot. 

Night  had  come  on  and  a  full  moon  was  just  rising 
above  the  horizon  when  Young  and  his  companions 
arrived  at  the  H.  0.  ranch.  There  supper  was  just 
finished;  and  while  two  of  the  boys  took  care  of  the 
horses  the  three  late-comers  sat  down  to  eat.  Save 
for  an  unusual  quietness  there  was  no  indication  of 
anything  out  of  the  daily  routine  taking  place. 

Shortly  after  the  three  had  finished  their  meal  the 
cow-boys  began  to  drop  away  from  the  house  in  twos 
and  threes,  all  taking  the  same  direction.  At  the 
end  of  half  an  hour  all  had  left  save  Young,  Bob 
Thompson  and  the  boy. 


NED     LONG  77 

"I  'xpect  we'd  better  be  movin'  along,"  remarked 
Bob. 

Without  any  conversation  the  three  started  out  and 
followed  the  same  easterly  route  taken  by  the  others. 

About  half  a  mile  from  the  house  they  came  to 
where  the  other  men  were  assembled  under  a  giant 
cottonwood  tree  standing  alone  in  a  broad,  flat  creek 
bottom.  It  was  almost  as  light  as  day,  and  as  the 
three  approached  the  place  the  long  shadow  of  the 
tree  extended  toward  them  as  if  to  meet  them  on  the 
way. 

At  least  two  of  those  present  always  remembered 
the  events  of  that  night,  even  to  the  smallest  details. 
Young  noticed  that  there  were  just  seventeen  per 
sons  there  in  all.  Bill  Doolin  was  in  charge  of  the 
proceedings. 

"Well,  boys,  you  that's  on  the  jury,  take  your  seats," 
he  said;  and  twelve  of  the  men  seated  themselves  on 
two  logs  which  lay  parallel  to  each  other  and  three 
or  four  feet  apart.  "We're  here  to  try  you  for  horse- 
stealin',"  he  said  to  the  boy.  "You  can  set  there" — 
indicating  a  chunk  a  few  feet  in  front  of  where  the 
jury  sat — "and  ask  any  questions  or  say  anything  for 
yourself  you're  a  mind  to.  Have  you  got  any  objec 
tions  to  this  here  jury?" 

The  boy  shook  his  head,  but  said  nothing. 

Bob  Thompson  and  the  man.  who  was  with  him 
when  the  boy  was  caught  were  called,  and  in  a  few 


78  THE     LAEGEK     FAITH 

words  related  the  facts.  They  knew  the  horse  to 
belong  to  Bill  Young.  When  asked  if  he  wanted  to 
ask  them  any  questions  the  boy  again  shook  his  head 
and  was  silent.  Then  Doolin  inquired  of  Young  if 
he  wanted  to  testify;  but  he  answered,  "No." 

"Is  there  anything  you  want  to  say?"  said  Doolin 
to  the  boy.  "You  needn't  tell  anything  you  don't 
want  to,"  he  added. 

"No,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  voice  hardly  audible,  as  he 
shook  his  head. 

At  a  nod  from  Doolin  one  of  the  men  not  sitting 
on  the  jury  then  handed  to  each  juror  two  beans,  one 
white,  the  other  of  a  dark  color.  Then  a  hat  was 
passed,  into  which  each  man  dropped  one  bean,  and 
the  hat  was  handed  to  Doolin,  who,  after  looking  at 
the  contents,  silently  handed  it  around  that  all  pres 
ent  might  see  the  result  of  the  vote.  It  was  held  for 
the  boy  to  look  at  last,  but  he  hardly  glanced  at  it. 

"That's  all,"  said  Doolin,  nodding  toward  the  jury. 
"Get  the  rope." 

Then  the  boy's  dream,  in  all  its  horror,  came  true, 
lie  was  moved  to  a  spot  under  an  outstretched  limb 
of  the  tree,  and  while  some  hands  adjusted  about  his 
neck  a  noose  which  had  been  thrown  over  the  limb, 
others  tied  his  hands  behind  him. 

All  the  events  since  the  boy's  arrival  at  the  place 
of  trial  had  occupied  not  more  than  twenty  minutes; 


NED     LONG  79 

and  yet  there  had  been  a  degree  of  decorum,  a  sem 
blance  of  order,  in  the  proceedings. 

"Boy,"  said  Doolin,  in  a  voice  meant  to  be  kindly, 
"'don't  you  want  to  pray  before  you  swing?" 

"I  don't  know  how,"  muttered  the  boy. 

"Is  there  anything  you  want  to  say — any  word  you 
want  to  send  to  anybody?"  asked  Doolin. 

For  more  than  twenty-four  hours,  save  the  short 
time  he  slept,  the  boy  had  been  looking  death  in  the 
face.  At  first  he  was  stupefied  with  fear.  Later  he 
felt  a  terrible  longing  to  escape.  He  had  that  day 
performed  an  amount  of  physical  labor  sufficient  to 
tire  the  ordinary  man.  His  overwrought  nerves  could 
bear  no  further  strain.  He  was  no  longer  tortured 
by  fear.  The  worst  had  come.  In  the  calmness  of 
utter  despair  he  held  up  his  head  and  spoke. 

"Only  to  Mr.  Young  there,"  he  said.  "I  never 
meant  to  steal  his  horse."  Then,  to  the  others:  "The 
rest  of  you  fellows  needn't  think  you're  gettin'  any 
the  best  of  me.  I  ain't  had  no  good  time  livin'  any 
how,  'nd  I've  had  worse  things  happen  to  me  than 
dyin'.  You  can  hang  me,  but  you  can't  scare  me  any 
more,  damn  you!  If  I  go  to  hell  I'll  be  sure  to  meet 
up  with  you  fellows  before  long!  Good-by,  Mr. 
Young!" 

The  boy's  voice  had  risen  as  he  proceeded  until  his 
last  words  to  those  about  to  hang  him,  just  before  he 
bade  farewell  to  Young,  were  almost  shouted. 


80  THE     LARGEB     FAITH 

The  sudden  transformation  of  the  cowering,  over 
awed  lad  into  this  defiant  young  animal  at  bay,  was 
startling  to  those  engaged  in  his  execution.  For  a 
few  seconds  they  gazed  at  him  in  wonder.  Then  Doo- 
lin  said:  "Is  there  any  of  you  that  would  say  some 
thing,  or  maybe  put  up  a  prayer  for  him?" 

At  this  all  eyes  turned  toward  Young,  who  was 
standing  a  little  apart  from  the  others,  the  moon 
shining  full  into  his  pale  face.  For  a  few  moments 
there  was  silence.  With  the  boy  the  reaction  had 
come  quickly  after  his  sudden  outbreak,  and  his  knees 
\\  ere  visibly  shaking. 

Young  gave  a  slight  start,  as  if  awaking  from  a 
dream.  Then,  in  a  low  voice,  vibrant  with  intense 
feeling,  and  at  first  more  as  if  soliloquizing  than  ad 
dressing  those  around  him,  he  said: 

"Life  is  eternal.  Every  act,  every  thought,  lives 
on  and  on.  The  present  is  but  an  echo  of  what  was 
done,  what  was  thought,  in  the  past.  Each  of  us  is 
an  expression  of  thought  that  existed  long  before  we 
appeared  in  our  present  forms.  The  life  of  each  one 
of  us  is  to  a  large  extent  the  result  of  causes  with 
which  we  had  nothing  to  do.  As  our  lives  were 
molded  by  those  who  lived  before  our  time,  so  we 
who  now  live  are  molding  the  future.  What  we  do 
will  add  to  the  welfare  or  to  the  misery — will  make 
for  the  weal  or  woe — of  those  yet  unborn. 

"Humanity  is  all  one.    A  wrong  done  to  any  per- 


NED     LONG  81 

son  is  an  injury  to  mankind.  He  who  hates  does 
himself  the  greatest  possible  injury.  He  who  loves 
is  doing  for  himself  the  highest  possible  good. 

"Because  some  time  in  the  past  love  was  stifled, 
this  wandering  boy  is  here  to-night  to  pay  the  pen 
alty  of  his  crime.  Is  it  his  crime?  I  think  not.  It  is 
the  fault — or  the  crime — of  some  one  who  in  the  past 
ignored  the  great  truth  that  love  is  the  supreme  law. 

"The  time  will  come,  my  brothers,  when  there  will 
be  no  outcasts,  when  the  truth  will  bo  known  and 
acted  on  that  we  are  all  members  of  one  family  and 
the  children  of  one  loving  parent.  We  can  do  much 
to  hasten  the  coming  of  that  day.  It  is  well  for  us 
and  for  all  if  we  do  justly  and  love  mercy.  Now  is 
the  only  time  when  any  man  can  do  the  thing  that  is 
right. 

"If  we  take  from  this  boy  the  life  that  we  cannot 
give  back,  we  shall  be  doing  ourselves  a  wrong  that 
will  cause  us  lifelong  regret  and  shame,  a  wrong  that 
can  never  be  righted.  If  we  do  what  our  better  na 
tures  prompt  us  to  do,  we  shall  always  look  upon  this 
clay  as  a  bright  spot  in  our  lives. 

"Oh,  men!  are  we  fit  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  him, 
or  to  take  his  life?  He  is  little  more  than  a  child. 
How  many  of  us  would  be  here  to-night  if  our  short 
comings  at  his  age  had  not  been  overlooked — if  our 
wrongs  committed  in  later  life  had  not  been  con 
doned?  We  do  not  know  what  trials  he  has  had, 


82  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

what  wrongs  he  has  suffered,  what  temptations  he 
has  overcome. 


"  'What's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 
But  know  not  what's  resisted.' 


"For  his  sake,  for  our  own  sakes,  for  the  sake  of  the 
loving  God  whose  children  we  all  are,  let  not  this 
wrong  he  done!" 

Young's  manner  had  changed.  The  man  seemed 
to  expand,  to  grow  "before  the  eyes  of  his  hearers  as  he 
proceeded.  He  spoke  to  them  with  impassioned  ear 
nestness,  and  at  the  close  his  voice,  though  it  had  not 
been  raised,  had  in  it  the  ring  of  perfect  confidence. 
The  men  addressed  listened,  at  first  curiously,  then 
with  bated  breath.  There  was  a  short  interval  of  si 
lence,  and  then  Young,  turning  upward  a  face  as 
calm  as  that  of  the  moon  itself,  uttered  this  prayer: 

"Our  Father,  Who  art  ever  present  with  us,  we 
thank  Thee  day  by  day  for  all  the  good  that  is  ours 
— for  the  life  and  health  and  strength  which  are  of 
Thee  and  of  which  Thou  art  a  part;  for  the  blessed 
sunshine,  the  beautiful  moonlight,  the  streams  that 
flow  and  the  life-giving  air  we  breathe. 

"We  thank  Thee  that  we  live  in  a  land  of  freedom, 
where  the  heavy  hand  of  the  oppressor  is  unknown. 

"We  thank  Thee  especially,  our  Father,  for  the  in 
telligence  which  enables  us  to  know  Thee  as  our 


NED     LONG  83 

common  parent  and  to  recognize  each  other  as  broth 
ers — that  teaches  us  that  an  injury  to  the  smallest 
of  Thy  children  is  a  wrong  done  to  ourselves. 

"For  all  these  things,  our  Father,  we  shall  thank 
Thee  while  we  live.  Amen." 

There  was  but  one  person  present  who  kept  his  hat 
on  during  this  prayer.  His  hands  were  tied. 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  prayer  Young  turned  and 
walked  slowly  toward  the  house.  For  a  little  time 
the  others  stood  looking  after  him.  But  one  man  had 
hold  of  the  rope,  and  he  was  wholly  unconscious  that 
he  was  holding  it.  Bill  Doolin  had  been  conducting 
the  affair  up  to  within  the  last  five  minutes,  but  in 
that  five  minutes  Young  had  completely  superseded 
him  in  command,  and  when  Young  walked  away  the 
men,  including  Doolin,  all  felt  that  their  leader  was 
gone. 

Presently  Bob  Thompson  pulled  Doolin's  sleeve, 
and,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  away  from  the  group, 
walked  off  a  few  rods,  followed  by  Doolin,  where  the 
two  held  a  conversation  in  tones  too  low  to  be  un 
derstood  by  the  others.  After  two  or  three  minutes 
one  of  the  two,  raising  his  voice  enough  to  be  heard, 
said: 

"Boys!" 

The  rest  of  the  cow-boys  moved  over  to  where 
Doolin  and  Thompson  were  talking,  leaving  the  boy 


84  THE     LAEGER     FAITH 

standing  alone,  his  hands  still  tied,  the  noose  about 
his  neck  and  the  rope  hanging  over  the  limb. 

The  boy  could  hear  only  a  murmur  of  voices  until 
some  one  said  in  a  louder  tone: 

"It  won't  do  for  this  to  get  out.  Every  mother's 
son  here  must  swear  not  to  squeak,  even  to  his 
chums." 

"How  about  Young?"  asked  another. 

"Huh!  he's  not  the  kind  that  talks,"  said  Doolin. 
"Still,  one  of  us  might  mention  it  to  him." 

The  men  returned  in  a  body  to  where  the  boy  was 
standing,  when  one  of  them  untied  the  boy's  hands 
while  Doolin  removed  the  noose  from  his  neck,  say 
ing: 

"Kid,  you  go  and  tell  Bill  Young  you  owe  your 
neck  to  him,  'nd  then  you'd  better  hit  the  trail." 

The  boy  did  not  move  at  once,  and  Doolin,  hand 
ing  him  some  money,  added  in  a  manner  which  had 
recovered  all  its  accustomed  roughness: 

"Take  this  so's  you  won't  need  to  get  into  no  more 
trouble  'round  here,  'nd  don't  you  never  tell  nobody 
that  you  stole  a  horse  on  this  range  'nd  got  away!" 

The  boy  showed  signs  of  breaking  down,  but  Bob 
Thompson  said  to  him  kindly,  "There,  now,  kid, 
come  on,"  and  led  him  toward  the  house. 

As  they  passed  the  stables  Young  came  out  lead 
ing  the  horse,  Whitefoot,  bridled  and  with  the  boy's 


NED     LONG  85 

blanket  strapped  on  him.  The  boy  tried  to  say  some 
thing  to  him,  but  broke  down  sobbing. 

"There,  Joe,"  said  Young,  gently,  "it's  all  right. 
You've  had  a  hard  time  of  it  to-day.  Now,  this  horse 
is  yours.  Here's  a  short  bill  of  sale  for  him  in  case 
anybody  should  stop  you  again.  His  name's  White- 
foot,  but  he  answers  to  White  for  short.  I  want  you 
to  take  care  of  him,  and  of  yourself.  You'll  find  an 
empty  house  with  a  haystack  near  it  about  five  miles 
down  the  road.  You'd  better  camp  there  to-night 
and  give  the  horse  plenty  of  hay.  Here's  some  change 
to  help  you  along." 

"I  have  money,"  said  the  boy. 

"The  boys  give  him  some,"  said  Bob. 

"All  right,  then,"  said  Young.  "Now,  good-by 
and  'take,  care  of  yourself.  You'll  come  out  all 
right." 

In  strange  contrast  with  the  defiant  young  desper 
ado  who  had  dared  them  to  hang  him  a  short  while 
before  was  the  utterly  collapsed  boy  who  rode  slowly 
away. 

After  watching  him  for  a  short  distance  Young 
said  to  Thompson : 

"If  you  have  a  fresh  horse  that  you'll  let  me  take, 
I  believe  I'll  ride  home  to-night." 

"You  can  have  a  dozen  horses  if  you  want  them/' 
said  Thompson,  "but  we'd  like  to  have  you  stay  over 
with  us." 


86  THE     LABGEB     FAITH 

"Thank  you,  but  my  family  will  miss  me,"  said 
Young,  smiling. 

Before  he  started,  all  the  men  shook  hands  with 
Young,  most  of  them  silently.  Thompson  said: 
"Xever  mind  about  bringin'  that  horse  back;  we 
don't  need  him,  'nd  some  of  us'll  be  up  your  way  be 
fore  long  'nd  get  him." 

Doolin  walked  a  little  distance  by  the  side  of 
Young's  horse,  and  as  the  two  shook  hands  before 
separating,  said:  "By  God,  Young,  you  done  the 
right  thing  again;  it  won't  do  to  get  out,  though, 
that  we  let  the  kid  go." 

"You  all  did  the  right  thing,"  said  Young.  "My 
word  for  it,  you'll  not  be  sorry." 

As  for  himself,  Young  always  looked  upon  his 
lonely  ride  home  in  the  moonlight  that  night  as  one 
of  the  happiest  experiences  of  his  life.  He  spent  the 
next  day  in  his  usual  routine,  and  a  little  after  dark 
v.  as  in  his  sitting  room  reading  when  there  was  a 
timid  knock  at  his  door.  On  opening  the  door  he 
saw  standing  there  the  boy  Joe  with  rolled-up 
blanket  in  his  hand,  just  as  he  had  when  he  first  ap 
peared  at  the  cabin. 

"Why,  Joe,  I  thought  you  were  on  your  way  to 
Texas,"  said  Young.  "Come  in." 

The  boy  entered  with  a  hesitating  step  and  an  ap 
pealing  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Your  horse  is  in  the  stable,"  he  said.    "I  couldn't 


NED     LONG  87 

take  him — from  you — that  way — after  what  I'd 
done." 

He  paused  and  tried  to  swallow  a  lump  in  his 
throat. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you — I  never  meant  to  take  your 
horse — I  couldn't  've  done  it — after  what  you'd  done 
for  ine.  I  didn't  mean  to  steal  the  horse  from  any 
body — but  I  had  no  right  to  ride  him  so  far,  but  if 
I'd  knowed  he  was  your  horse  I  wouldn't  've  touched 
him  only  to  pet  him,  when  he  come  up  to  me." 

Young  listened  in  silence,  looking  intently  at  the 
boy. 

"I  wish  you  could  believe  me,  Mr.  Young,"  said 
the  boy,  after  a  pause.  "I'd  rather  have  you  believe 
me  than — anything." 

"I  do  believe  you,  Joe,"  said  Young. 

"Thank  you!"  said  the  boy,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

After  a  little  pause  Young  said:  "And  now,  if  you 
will,  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  one  or  two  things — you 
needn't  unless  you  want  to  do  so.  Are  your  folks  ex 
pecting  you  in  Texas?" 

"I  meant  to  tell  you  the  truth  about  that,  too," 
said  the  boy.  "I  haven't  got  no  folks  in  Texas.  I 
live  up  in  Colorado  and  run  away  from  home.  My 
real  name's  Ned  Long — Edward's  my  first  name,  but 
they  always  call  me  Ned." 

"Why  did  you  run  away?"  asked  Young. 

"My  stepfather  whipped  me  and  abused  me  every 


88  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

way,"  answered  the  boy.  "I  run  away  once  before 
and  he  took  me  back  home  and  licked  me  with  a 
quirt — worse  than  any  horse." 

Seeing  Young's  intent  gaze  fixed  on  him,  the  boy 
thought  his  statements  were  doubted. 

"I  want  you  to  know  I'm  telling  the  truth,"  he 
said.  "Look  at  my  back." 

Hastily  unbuttoning  his  woolen  shirt,  he  grasped 
the  collar  and  pulled  it  down,  exposing  the  upper 
part  of  his  back.  Young  took  one  look  and  turned 
pale. 

"Did  your  mother  know  this?"  he  asked. 

"My  mother's  been  dead  two  years,"  said  the  boy. 

"How  long  has  your  father  been  dead?"  asked 
Young. 

"Since  I  was  five  years  old,"  answered  the  boy. 

After  a  few  minutes  Young  asked:  "How  would 
you  like  to  stay  here?" 

"Right  along?  Oh,  I'd  like  it — if  you  only  had 
work  for  me  so  you  could  let  me  stay!  I'd  do  any 
thing  to  get  to  stay  here!"  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"Then  it  is  settled;  you  will  stay,"  said  Young. 
The  boy  showing  signs  of  being  troubled  again  with 
the  lump  in  his  throat,  Young  added  in  a  cheerful 
tone:  "This  will  begin  a  new  life  for  you,  and  you'd 
better  start  out  by  taking  a  hot-water  bath.  When 
you  take  off  your  clothes  put  them  in  the  stove — 
everything  you've  been  wearing  but  the  shoes.  I'll 


NED     LONG  89 

give  you  some  of  mine  to  put  on  in  the  morning. 
They'll  do  till  I  get  to  town." 

As  Young  was  passing  into  the  sitting  room  to 
give  the  boy  an  opportunity  to  wash  himself  he 
paused  at  the  door  and  turning  to  the  boy  asked: 

"Do  you  feel  safe  here,  Ned?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  do,"  answered  Ned. 

"Then  I  want  you  to  dismiss  all  fear  of  everybody 
and  everything — to-night — now.  Let  your  fear  go 
into  the  stove  with  your  old  clothes.  Will  you  do 
this  for  me  and  for  yourself?" 

"I'll  do  anything  for  you,"  answered  Ned.  "I  will 
not  be  afraid." 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

DAVID    WINTER. 

There  was  a  vacancy  in  the  pastorate  of  the  First 

Presbyterian  church  in  the  city  of  C ,  the  former 

pastor,  Dr.  Leighton,  having  resigned  to  accept  a 
similar  position  in  a  larger  and  wealthier  church  of 
the  same  denomination,  and  which,  incidentally,  paid 
a  considerably  larger  salary  than  he  had  been  get 
ting. 

For  several  years  Dr.  Leighton  had  been  regarded 
as  a  rising  man  in  the  Presbyterian  ministry.  He 
was  an  eloquent  preacher  and  his  congregation  took 
pride  in  him.  True,  some  hypercritical  persons 
thought  his  pulpit  manner  too  studied,  his  gestures 
and  elocution  somewhat  stagy  and  affected,  but  his 
ability  was  generally  conceded.  One  of  the  denom> 
iriational  colleges  had  conferred  upon  him  the  title  of 
D.  D.  while  he  was  yet  a  young  man,  which  made 
his  congregation  still  more  proud  of  him.  During 
his  pastorate  he  had  by  his  eloquence  and  zeal  per 
suaded  the  congregation  to  erect  a  splendid  church 
edifice,  which,  when  completed,  was  covered  by  a 


DAVID    WIN  TEE  91 

mortgage  representing  something  more  than  half  the 
cost  of  the  building  and  the  ground  on  which  it 
stood — a  favorite  modern  method  of  keeping  church 
members  constantly  reminded  that  they  owe  some 
thing  to  the  cause  and  that  the  Lord  loveth  a  cheerful 
giver. 

The  church  was  duly  dedicated  to  the  service  of 
God,  the  cushioned  pews  in  the  large  auditorium  be 
ing  completely  filled  with  well-dressed  people.  The 
services  on  this  occasion  were  impressive  and  the 
sermon  preached  by  the  pastor  was  generally  com 
mented  upon  by  the  members  of  the  congregation  as 
one  of  great  power. 

What  endeared  Dr.  Leighton  to  his  people  above 
all  things  else  was  the  fact  that  he  was  strictly  or 
thodox.  What  the  articles  of  faith  of  his  church  set 
out,  he  preached;  what  the  creed  specified,  he  upheld 
and  defended  with  all  the  force  and  skill  of  a  trained 
advocate.  He  abhorred  heterodoxy. 

But  he  had  resigned  and  was  gone,  leaving  as  a 
monument  of  his  labors  the  finest  church  edifice  in 
the  city;  also  the  mortgage  resting  upon  it.  Most  of 
the  members  of  the  congregation  looked  upon  his 
going  as  a  serious  loss  to  the  church,  and  felt  sure 
his  place  could  not  be  entirely  filled. 

For  some  time  the  pulpit  was  filled  by  "supplies" 
— ministers  who  could  be  secured  for  one  Sunday  at 
a  time,  and  a  few  gentlemen  had  been  asked  to  come 


92  THE     LABQER     FAITH 

and  preach  trial  sermons,  but  as  yet  no  call  had  been 
extended  to  any  of  them. 

Finally  the  Rev.  David  Winter  was  invited  to  preach 
a  trial  sermon.  It  is  a  wonder  that  these  trial  ser 
mons  are  ever  followed  by  the  employment  of  the 
man  who  preaches  one  of  them.  For  not  only  is  the 
sermon  itself  closely  followed  and  dissected,  but  the 
preacher's  every  movement,  his  voice,  his  gestures, 
how  he  handles  his  .handkerchief,  the  way  his  hair 
is  combed,  his  manner  of  closing  the  bible — all  these 
things  and  many  others  are  closely  watched,  criticised 
and  discussed. 

However,  the  trial  sermon  of  Rev.  Mr.  Winter 
proved  acceptable  to  those  who  heard  it.  At  any 
rate,  the  church  extended  to  him  a  call  to  become 
its  regular  pastor,  and  he  removed  his  family  to  the 

city  of  C and  entered  upon  his  pastorate  a  few 

months  after  his  predecessor  had  left. 

The  family  consisted  of  a  wife  and  three  children. 
Mrs.  Winter  was  a  woman  of  refinement  and  of  tact, 
well  fitted  both  by  nature  and  education  to  aid  her 
husband  in  the  varied  and  often  perplexing  duties 
which  a  minister  is  called  upon  to  perform.  The 
eldest  child,  a  boy  sixteen  years  of  age,  in  his  char 
acter  contradicted  the  prevailing  opinion  that  all 
preachers'  sons  are  bad  boys.  John  Winter  was,  like 
his  father,  a  gentleman.  The  two  younger  children 
were  girls  aged  respectively  ten  and  twelve  years,  and 


DAVID    WINTEH  93 

they  were  healthy,  hearty,  average  children.  The 
family  was  well  received  in  church  and  society  cir 
cles,  and  it  is  only  necessary  to  add  that  during  their 

residence  in  the  city  of  C no  personal  objection 

was  ever  made  against  any  of  them  from  the  head  of 
the  family  to  the  youngest  child. 

Eev.  Mr.  Winter  was  fifty  years  old,  of  medium 
height,  slender  build,  and  with  a  head  and  face  in 
dicating  intellectuality  and  strength  of  character. 
While  not  presenting  the  appearance  of  a  robust  man 
or  one  of  great  physical  strength,  his  kindly,  bright 
blue  eyes  were  indicative  of  health  and  an  active 
spirit.  He  was  a  college-bred  man,  and  had  been 
preaching  since  he  was  twenty-five  years  of  age.  He 
was  thoroughly  a  Christian,  exemplifying  in  his 
every-day  life  what  he  preached. 

Shortly  after  his  removal  to  the  city  of  C he 

became  connected  with  the  local  charity  organiza 
tions  and  continued  to  be  an  officer  in  them  during 
his  stay  in  that  city. 

When,  as  a  young  man,  David  Winter  first  entered 
the  ministry  he  was  something  of  a  stickler  for  the 
creed  of  his  church.  He  prepared  and  delivered 
many  able  sermons  expounding  the  doctrines  of  his 
denomination.  He  took  both  pride  and  pleasure  in 
discussing  close  points  of  dogma  and  in  making  fine 
distinctions.  But  in  his  twenty-five  years  of  preach 
ing  he  had  learned  a  good  deal.  His  belief  in  the  es* 


94  THE     LAEGER     FAITH 

sential  truths  of  Christianity  had  in  nowise  become 
weakened,  but  he  no  longer  took  either  pride  or 
pleasure  in  discussing  or  expounding  hair-splitting 
points  of  mere  doctrine.  He  had  developed  spirit 
ually.  He  liked  to  dwell  on  God  as  the  Eternal  Father 
and  as  a  kind  and  loving  parent.  He  liked  to  preach 
the  teachings  of  Jesus  Christ.  There  was  in  his  ser 
mons  more  of  love  and  less  condemnation  than  be« 
fore.  He  had  seen  many  people,  and  especially  young 
people,  kept  out  of  the  church,  and  even  professing  a 
disbelief  in  religion  itself,  because  they  refused  to  ac 
cept  doctrines  some  of  which  had  now  become  ob 
solete  even  with  the  ultra  orthodox.  He  conceived  it 
to  be  his  duty  to  draw  rather  than  attempt  to  drive 
people  to  Christ.  This  was  his  state  of  mind  when 
he  entered  upon  the  pastorate  of  the  First  Presby 
terian  church  at  C . 

The  attendants  at  the  church  were  moderately  ap 
preciative  of  his  sermons.  As  has  been  said,  a  con 
siderable  portion  of  the  congregation  had  a  settled 
conviction  that  no  preacher  who  might  come  would 
or  could  altogether  fill  Dr.  Leighton's  place.  Still, 
most  of  them  liked  Mr.  Winter's  preaching,  and 
many  of  them  learned  to  love  the  man.  There  was 
nothing  theatrical  about  his  pulpit  manner  or  his 
utterances.  Both  in  and  out  of  the  pulpit  he  was 
modest  and  unassuming,  and  his  manner  and  words 
were  simple  and  direct.  Withal  he  was  full  of  energy 


DAVID     WINTER  95 

and  ever  ready  to  go  anywhere  to  lend  a  helping  hand 
or  say  a  needed  word. 

The  church  debt  began  to  make  itself  felt.  Not 
only  had  no  part  of  the  original  debt  been  paid,  but 
interest  had  been  allowed  to  accumulate",  and  one  un 
godly  creditor  had  threatened  to  foreclose  his  mort 
gage  unless  the  interest  were  kept  paid  up.  The 
finance  committee  had  a  few  words  to  say  on  several 
Sundays  before  the  congregation  was  dismissed.  They 
said  them,  but  their  words  failed  to  bring  the  de 
sired  result.  In  the  church  were  several  persons  con 
sidered  wealthy,  who,  at  the  time  of  building  the 
church,  had  subscribed  and  paid  liberal  sums  and  all 
they  felt  able  to  give,  with  the  distinct  and  express 
understanding  that  they  should  not  be  called  upon 
for  any  more  money  for  that  purpose.  Some  of  the 
officers  of  the  church  suggested  to  Mr.  Winter  that  as 
a  stranger  to  the  contract  he  go  to  these  members  and 
ask  them  for  money  on  the  church  debt,  at  the  same 
time  explaining  why  they  could  not  go  themselves. 
Mr.  Winter  flatly  refused.  Then  the  church  authori 
ties  asked  him  to  preach  a  special  sermon  calculated 
to  raise  the  needed  money.  This  was  not  just  the 
kind  of  sermon  he  liked  best  to  preach  or  in  which 
he  appeared  at  his  best.  As  a  debt-raiser,  one  of  the 
professional  hustlers  who  go  about  raising  church 
debts,  it  must  be  acknowledged  the  Eev.  David  Win 
ter  would  probably  not  have  proved  an  eminent  sue- 


96  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

cess.  Still,  he  preached  the  asked-for  sermon,  and 
still  the  debt  remained  unpaid. 

Now,  it  is  a  fact  in  natural  history  that  all  persons 
do  not  enjoy  being  continually  dunned  for  money, 
even  at  church.  Some  of  the  attendants  at  this 
church,  wearied  by  the  importunities  for  money 
which  seemed  to  them  to  form  a  principal  feature  of 
every  service,  began  to  remain  away,  which  made  the 
burden  all  the  greater  on  those  who  stayed — or,  prop 
erly  speaking,  on  those  who  remained  faithful.  The 
membership  of  the  church  had  not  materially  in 
creased  since  the  advent  of  Mr.  Winter.  The  at 
tendance  was  undoubtedly  diminishing.  Among  the 
members  of  the  church  there  began  to  spread  a  spirit 
of  unrest.  Like  the  boy  who  ate  too  much  mince 
pie,  they  were  out  of  sorts  with  themselves  and  didn't 
know  why.  A  sort  of  dyspeptic  feeling  was  pervading 
the  church.  The  truth  is,  that  being  called  upon  to 
pay  interest  on  a  hopeless  debt  is  not  necessarily  an 
aid  to  spirituality.  Debt  is  not  always  conducive  to 
spiritual  growth  and  development. 

David  Winter  was  a  close  and  experienced  observer 
of  human  nature,  especially  as  it  manifests  itself 
among  church  members.  He  saw  with  anxiety  and 
with  many  misgivings  the  indications  we  have  out 
lined.  He  was  the  spiritual  leader  and  guide  of  that 
people  and  he  fully  realized  the  responsibility  of  his 
position.  Was  he  doing  his  full  duty  to  them?  Might 


DAVID     WINTEK  97 

it  be  that  in  some  respect  he  was  falling  short?  For 
weeks  the  problem  was  constantly  with  him.  He 
prayed  fervently  for  spiritual  light,  for  greater  power 
to  do  for  his  flock  all  that  the  Master  would  have 
him  do.  In  his  sermons  he  made  every  effort  to 
arouse  in  his  hearers  the  spirit  of  love  and  thus  dispel 
the  discontent  and  lassitude  which  he  felt  were  steal 
ing  over  the  members  of  his  church.  In  his  experi 
ence  as  a  minister  never  had  he  been  so  perplexed  and 
so  vexed  in  spirit;  never  had  he  labored  so  hard  and 
so  earnestly.  For  months  he  devoted  every  energy  of 
every  waking  hour  in  the  endeavor  to  stem  the  tide 
which  he  felt  was  rising  against  the  welfare  of  his 
church.  His  difficulty  was  increased  by  the  fact  that 
his  physical  strength,  which  heretofore  had  been  al 
ways  equal  to  any  call  made  upon  it,  began  to  give 
way  under  the  strain.  In  his  great  anxiety  to  do  his 
full  duty  his  energetic  nature  had  prompted  him  to 
overwork  himself. 

This  was  the  state  of  affairs  when  one  Thursday 
evening  the  church  officers  held  a  regular  meeting  at 
which  the  minister  was  expected  to  be  present  and 
preside.  Mr.  Winter  noted  with  pleasure  that  there 
was  an  unusually  full  attendance,  all  the  officers  of 
the  church  being  present  save  one  whom  he  knew  to 
be  confined  at  home  by  illness.  At  last,  thought  he, 
the  proper  spirit  was  taking  hold  of  the  church.  At 
last  the  discouraging  and  depressing  conditions  un- 


98  THE     LAEGEB     FAITH 

der  which  he  had  been  laboring  were  beginning  to 
change. 

After  about  an  hour  spent  in  routine  business,  and 
when  Bev.  Mr.  Winter,  thinking  the  meeting  was 
about  to  break  up,  had  asked  those  present  to  join 
him  in  prayer  and  had  offered  up  a  fervent  prayer 
with  more  heartfelt  thankfulness  than  he  had  been 
able  to  feel  for  a  long  time,  one  of  the  elders,  after 
some  hesitation,  cleared  his  throat  and  said: 

"Brother  Winter,  there  are  some  things  we  want 
to  talk  to  you  about." 

Mr.  Winter  looked  interrogatively  at  the  speaker 
and  was  silent. 

"The  fact  is,"  said  the  elder,  "\ve  haven't  felt  sat 
isfied  with  your  preaching.  Since  you've  been  here 
you  have  only  made  a  passing  reference  once  or  twice 
to  our  articles  of  faith.  Now,  we  look  on  our  creed 
as  the  basis  of  the  church,  and  it  seems  to  us  it  ought 
to  be  expounded  and  explained  more." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Winter,  mildly  and  with  a  rising 
inflection.  "Was  there  anything  else?" 

"Yes,  there  is,"  replied  the  elder,  his  face  becom 
ing  slightly  flushed.  "We  think  the  sermons  you 
preach  are  not  orthodox." 

"The  one  you  preached  last  Sabbath,"  spoke  up  an^ 
other,  "on  the  text  'And  God  so  loved  the  world' 
seemed  to  imply  that  all  persons  may  be  saved.  Now, 


DAVID    WIXTEK  99 

that's  not  according  to  the  doctrine  of  the  Presby 
terian  church." 

"And  listening  to  your  other  sermons,  Mr.  Win 
ter,"  said  another,  "one  couldn't  have  told  that  they 
were  preached  by  a  Presbyterian  minister  at  all/' 

"Listening  to  some  of  them,"  said  a  man  back  in  a 
corner  of  the  room,  Td  hare  thought  they  were 
preached  by  a  Universalist  or  a  Unitarian." 

"It  may  be.  brothers."  said  Mr.  Winter/'that  I  have 
not  devoted  as  much  attention  to  doctrinal  points  in 
my  sermons  as  you  think  I  ought  to  have  done.  I 
know  I  don't  devote  so  much  time  to  them  as  when 
I  was  younger  in  the  ministry.  Still.  I  don't  think  I 
have  become  unorthodox.'' 

"Didn't  you  say,"  said  one  who  had  not  yet  spoken. 
"that  the  lesson  to  be  learned  from  the  story  of  Jonah 
and  the  whale  is  that  when  a  man  has  a  duty  to  per 
form  or  is  sent  to  do  a  thing,  he  should  not  turn 
aside,  leaving  the  plain  implication  that  the  story  it 
self  is  not  a  statement  of  fact?" 

"Yes.  I  said  that  was  the  lesson  I  learned  from  the 
story  of  Jonah."  replied  Mr.  TVinter.  ''The  implica 
tion  is  your  own,  but  let  it  stand." 

"Do  you  believe  in  infant  baptism  P*  asked  one  of 
those  present 

""Yes,  and  I  have  practiced  it  during  all  my  min 
istry,"  replied  Mr.  Winter. 

"Some  of  your  sermons,"  said  one,  "'seem  to  leave 


100  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

the  impression  that  the  heathen  can  be  saved.  Do 
you  believe  that?" 

"I  have  tried,"  said  Mr.  Winter,  "to  preach  the 
gospel  of  Jesus  Christ " 

"It  isn't  a  question  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ," 
spoke  up  a  deacon  who  on  weekdays  was  engaged 
in  the  loan  business.  "This  is  a  Presbyterian  church, 
and  the  question  is  whether  you  are  orthodox — 
whether  what  you  preach  is  Presbyterian  doctrine." 

"I  understand,"  said  another,  "that  in  the  sermon 
you  preached  four  weeks  ago  last  Sabbath  you  ex 
pressed  a  doubt  as  to  the  miraculous  conception  of 
Christ.  I  didn't  hear  the  sermon  myself — I  was  out 
of  the  city — but  one  of  the  brothers  said  he  so  un 
derstood  you." 

"My  brothers,"  replied  Mr.  Winter,  with  more  feel 
ing  than  he  had  before  shown,  "that  is  totally  a  mis 
take.  I  do  believe  in  the  miraculous  conception 
of  Jesus  Christ.  I  have  always  believed  it,  and  I 
have  never  uttered  a  word,  here  or  elsewhere,  from 
\vhich  any  person  could  fairly  get  any  such  idea  as 
you  suggest." 

They  interrogated  him  as  to  his  belief  in  the  bible 
from  Genesis  to  Revelations;  they  wanted  to  know 
if  he  believed  the  story  of  the  creation,  and  if  the 
days  mentioned  in  that  recital  were  of  the  same 
length  as  the  present  days;  they  asked  about  Adam 
and  Eve,  and  whether  he  believed  in  the  responsi- 


DAVID     WINTEB  101 

bility  of  the  entire  human  race  for  Adam's  sin.  They 
asked  him  if  it  was  true  that  he  had  expressed  a  doubt 
of  the  correctness  of  the  bible  chronology  showing 
the  age  of  the  earth  to  be  six  thousand  years,  and 
upon  his  replying  that  he  had  every  reason  to  be 
lieve  the  earth's  age  to  be  more  than  twice  six  thou 
sand  years,  they  shook  their  heads,  sighed  deeply, 
and  gazed  at  each  other  with  countenances  full  of 
sorrow. 

They  asked  him  if  he  believed  Joshua  stopped  the 
sun;  if  he  believed  the  story  of  Shadrach,  Meshach 
and  Abednego;  whether  the  book  of  Job  was  to  be 
taken  as  a  literal  statement  of  historic  fact. 

But  it  would  perhaps  be  the  shorter  way  to  specify 
what  they  did  not  ask  him.  For  full  five  hours,  with 
out  having  given  him  any  intimation  of  their  inten 
tion  to  question  him  or  that  there  was  any  sort  of 
charge  against  him,  they  kept  him  in  the  pillory. 
Suffice  it  to  say  many  other  things  they  did  and  said, 
the  which,  if  they  were  written  in  a  book,  would 
disgrace  the  name  of  the  church,  discredit  the  cause 
of  Christ,  drive  into  infidelity  every  young  person 
who  should  read  it,  keep  away  from  the  church  all 
who  think  or  who  have  any  sense  of  fairness,  and 
bring  into  contempt  the  very  name  of  religion  it 
self — if  such  proceedings  could  be  imagined  to  have 
any  relation  to  or  connection  with  religion. 

Throughout  the  ordeal  the  Rev.  Mr.  Winter — by  a 


102  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

strong  effort,  it  must  be  confessed — retained  com 
mand  of  himself,  was  good-tempered  and  answered 
his  carping  critics  gently  and  in  a  kindly  spirit.  But 
the  effect  of  it  all  upon  him  in  his  then  state  of  mind 
and  of  physical  health,  coming  upon  him  as  it  did 
like  a  clap  of  thunder  from  a  clear  sky,  can  be  im 
agined.  He  slept  none  that  night,  and  but  little  on 
either  of  the  two  following  nights.  On  Sunday  he 
looked  haggard  and  careworn.  It  could  be  easily 
seen  that  he  ought  to  be  at  home  and  in  bed.  But  he 
preached — at  least  he  tried  to  preach. 

The  next  day  Darrell  met  him  on  the  street  and 
was  shocked  at  his  appearance.  They  had  met  short 
ly  after  Mr.  Winter's  arrival  at  C and  had  con 
ceived  a  liking  for  each  other.  He  was  the  one 
preacher  with  whom  Darrell  had  ever  had  more  than 
a  passing  or  casual  acquaintance.  There  was  some 
thing  about  Mr.  Winter  that  drew  the  young  man 
toward  him.  For  the  past  year  Darrell  had  been  call 
ing  and  spending  a  half-hour  or  an  hour  with  the 
Winter  family  almost  every  week.  The  subject  of  re 
ligion  was  not  talked  of  between  them. 

Darrell  had  noticed  for  some  time  that  his  friend 
was  not  looking  as  well  as  formerly,  but  he  had  never 
seen  him  looking  so  ill  as  to-day.  Wishing  not  to  be 
tray  too  much  of  what  was  in  his  mind,  he  said  as 
they  shook  hands:  "You're  not  looking  quite  up  to 


DAVID    WINTES  103 

the  mark  in  health,  Mr.  Winter.     Are  you  feeling 
ill?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  minister,  "I've  just  been  calling 
on  the  doctor." 

"What  is  the  trouble,  if  I  may  ask?"  said  Darrell. 

"My  greatest  trouble  is  insomnia,"  said  the  min 
ister.  "The  doctor  calls  it  exhaustion,  and  says  I  am 
on  the  verge  of  nervous  prostration.  He  also  says  my 
lungs  are  affected.  You  know,"  he  added  with  a 
smile — and  Darrell  thought  it  was  a  ghastly  smile — 
"the  doctors  are  liable  to  make  things  appear  worse 
than  they  are  sometimes." 

"Yes,"  assented  Darrell,  "that  is  true — sometimes. 
What  does  the  doctor  prescribe  ?" 

"Absolute  rest  and  quiet,  in  an  arid  climate,  if  pos 
sible.  He  advises  me  to  go  to  Colorado  and  live  in  a 
tent  for  a  few  months,"  replied  the  minister. 

Darrell  at  once  thought  of  Young's  ranch.  "I 
know  a  good  place,"  he  said,  "but  it  isn't  in  Colorado, 
nor  exactly  a  tent.  I  don't  know  whether  arrange 
ments  can  be  made  for  you  to  stay  there,  but  if  you'll 
let  me  I'll  find  out  within  a  few  days."  He  told  his 
fiiend  of  the  ranch,  its  situation  and  surroundings, 
but  said  little  about  Young,  only  that  he  was  a  bach 
elor,  living  alone,  and  he  thought  Mr.  Winter  would 
find  it  a  good  place  for  his  purpose,  if  Young  would 
receive  him.  Mr.  Winter  replied  that  he  would  be 


104  THE     LABGEB     FAITH 

obliged  if  Darrell  would  write  to  Young  and  if  pos 
sible  engage  board  for  him  for  a  few  months. 

Mr.  Winter's  congregation  did  not  at  all  indorse 
what  the  officers  of  the  church  had  done.  On  the 
contrary,  as  soon  as  the  facts  became  known,  the  con 
gregation  got  together,  repudiated  the  action  of  the 
officers  of  the  church,  demanded  their  resignations 
and  passed  a  strongly  worded  resolution  expressing 
their  confidence  in  and  sympathy  with  the  minister. 
But  it  was  too  late.  Mr.  Winter's  health  was  broken, 
and  besides,  he  knew  that  if  he  stayed — and  probably 
whether  he  stayed  or  went — there  would  be  a  fac 
tional  fight  in  the  church.  He  was  compelled  to 
make  his  resignation  peremptory,  which  he  did.  Then 
he  prepared  to  get  away  to  the  west  as  soon  as  pos 
sible. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   BISHOP. 

The  feeling  that  Ned  Long  had  toward  Young  was 
one  of  hero  worship.  Not  only  had  Young  shown 
him  kindness  when  he  was  in  distress,  but  he  felt 
sure  that  but  for  Young's  unexpected  interference  he 
would  have  died  an  ignominious  death.  Then  since 
he  began  living  at  the  ranch  he  had  learned  to  love 
Young,  whose  character  was  so  simple,  so  unconven 
tional  and  unassuming,  and  withal  so  full  of  good 
will  toward  others  that  he  seemed  without  any  effort 
on  his  part  to  inspire  the  hearts  of  all  who  came  near 
him  with  a  love  for  himself. 

Ned  Long's  affection  for  him  was  dog-like  in  its 
simplicity  and  entire  unselfishness.  There  was  noth 
ing  Ned  would  not  have  done  or  tried  to  do  for  him. 
One  with  a  wide  and  accurate  knowledge  of  human 
nature  has  said:  "Greater  love  hath  no  man  than 
this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends." 
Judged  by  this  standard,  the  love  of  Ned  Long  could 
not  have  been  greater,  for  at  any  time  he  would  will- 


106  THE     LARGEK     FAITH 

ingly — nay,  cheerfully — have  laid  down  his  life  for 
William  Young. 

Their  only  point  of  difference  arose  from  Ned's 
persistence  in  wanting  to  do  all  the  work.  Young, 
however,  quietly  but  firmly  insisted  on  a  fair  division 
of  what  needed  doing,  and  that  each  of  them  should 
do  only  his  share. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Ned  began  to  have  a 
feeling  of  self-respect  and  to  acquire  self-confidence. 
When  he  had  been  at  the  ranch  a  few  days,  Young, 
having  learned  what  advancement  the  boy  had  made 
in  the  way  of  acquiring  an  education,  suggested  to 
him  the  advantage  of  spending  some  time  each  day 
in  study.  Ned  adopted  the  suggestion,  and  under 
Young's  tuition  entered  upon  his  studies  with  such 
zeal  that  he  made  surprising  progress. 

Nor  was  the  advantage  all  on  the  boy's  side.  Young 
had  never  before  attempted  to  teach  a  young  person, 
and  after  keeping  it  up  a  few  weeks  he  could  not  help 
feeling  that  he  was  deriving  from  it  as  much  benefit 
as  he  was  giving  Ned. 

Young  had  insisted  that  his  gift  of  Whitefoot  to 
Ned  stand  as  made,  and  had  added  to  it  a  saddle  and 
bridle.  After  learning  by  correspondence  with  the 
County  court  of  the  county  in  Colorado  from  which 
Ned  had  come  that  no  guardian  for  him  had  ever 
been  appointed,  Young,  after  consultation  with  Ned, 
took  him  to  the  county  seat  and  at  Ned's  request, 


THE     BISHOP  107 

made  in  person  to  the  County  court,  was  duly  ap 
pointed  guardian  of  the  person  and  property  of  Ed 
ward  Long,  minor.  This  was  merely  a  matter  of  pre 
caution,  but  it  served  to  give  Ned  a  feeling  of  perfect 
security. 

Bob  Thompson  called  at  the  ranch  in  December. 
He  stared  at  Ned,  hardly  able  to  recognize  in  him  the 
boy  he  had  brought  there  two  months  before.  How 
ever,  they  shook  hands,  and  no  reference  was  made 
by  any  of  them  to  the  occasion  of  their  becoming  ac 
quainted;  but  when  Young  and  Thompson  had  re 
tired  to  the  sitting  room  and  the  boy  was  out  of  hear 
ing,  Bob  remarked:  "A  man  that  can  pick  up  a 
broncho  out  of  the  herd  'nd  make  a  thoroughbred  of 
him  inside  of  two  months  is  a  tol'able  fair  handler  of 
live  stock." 

When  they  had  talked  for  a  time  the  conversation 
drifted  to  some  of  their  mutual  acquaintances,  and 
Bob  said:  "Sometimes  I  sort  of  feel  like  a  steer  that's 
found  a  piece  of  good  pasture  that  all  the  herd  ain't 
onto." 

Not  catching  his  drift,  Young  waited  for  him  to 
proceed. 

"And  sometimes,"  continued  Bob,  "it  seems  to  me 

maybe  I  ought  to ,"  and  he  paused,  uncertain 

just  how  to  express  himself. 

"You  feel  like  doing  what  you  can  to  help  others?" 
said  Young. 


108  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

"Yes,  that's  about  the  size  of  it,  only  I  don't  seem 
to  have  much  of  a  cinch  on  just  how  to  go  at  it,"  re 
plied  Bob. 

"You  have  been  at  it  for  some  time,"  said  Young. 
"There's  no  doubt  that  your  influence  for  good  has 
gone  out  and  has  accomplished  work  that  you  haven't 
dreamed  of." 

"Well,  I  hope  none  of  the  boys  has  been  any  worse 
on  account  of  me,  lately,"  said  Bob. 

"The  right  plan  for  all  of  us,"  replied  Young,  "is, 
I  think,  to  do  our  nearest  duty  day  by  day,  and  to  do 
it  as  well  as  we  know  how.  Be  patient.  When  the 
time  is  ripe  opportunities  will  come  to  each  of  us  to 
do  his  appointed  work." 

Bob's  opportunity  came  to  him  sooner  than  he  ex 
pected,  and  in  an  unlooked-for  way.  It  happened 
that  on  the  second  Sunday  after  his  talk  with  Young 
ho  met  with  eighteen  or  twenty  cowboys  and  two  or 
three  ranchmen  at  a  cattle  ranch  where  cowmen  were 
wont  to  meet  occasionally  for  the  sake  of  sociability 
and  the  exchange  of  views  on  matters  of  interest. 
After  they  had  eaten  dinner,  the  day  being  warm  and 
pleasant,  they  had  gathered  in  a  circle  outside  the 
cabin,  and  were  seated,  some  on  the  ground  and  others 
on  benches,  boxes  and  a  few  chairs,  having  a  general 
talk  on  nothing  in  particular  and  occasionally  passing 
a  joke  around.  Bob  was  sitting  on  the  end  of  an 
empty  soap  box.  During  a  lull  in  the  conversation 


THE     BISHOP  109 

some  one  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  circle  said:  "Why 
don't  you  carry  no  gun  any  more,  Bob?"  Nearly  all 
of  those  present  had  noticed  the  fact  that  "Bob  had 
not  been  carrying  a  gun  of  late,  and  they  listened  for 
his  answer. 

"Well,"  he  replied,  "the  fact  is  I  ain't  got  no  use 
for  a  gun.  I  don't  want  to  shoot  nobody  'nd  nobody 
wants  to  shoot  me." 

"Must  've  got  that  from  Bill  Young,  didn't  you?" 
asked  one. 

"Yes,"  said  Bob,  "I  don't  mind  sayin'  I  got  that 
from  Bill  Young.  I've  got  a  good  deal  from  him 
that's  done  me  good." 

"Bob's  been  havin'  some  long  powwows  with 
Young,"  said  one  of  the  cowboys. 

"It's  a  ten-to-one  bet  Young  didn't  do  him  no 
harm,"  said  Sam  McChesney;  "he's  about  as  straight- 
haired  as  they  make  'em." 

This  Sam  McChesney  was  a  big,  burly,  warm 
hearted  cowboy,  always  ready  for  a  frolic  or  a  fight. 
Ordinarily  he  chose  the  frolic,  but  at  times  a  fight 
seemed  decidedly  preferable  to  him.  One  peculiarity 
of  his  was  that  only  those  well  acquainted  with  him 
could  tell  which  he  had  in  mind,  for  the  thought  of 
either  frolic  or  fight  so  pleased  him  that  his  face 
broadened  into  a  bland  smile.  Still,  his  intimate  ac 
quaintances  could  detect  a  slight  difference  in  the 


110  THE     LABGER     FAITH 

smiles,  and  they   regulated  their   conduct  accord 
ingly. 

"Tell  us  what  Young's  been  givin'  you,  Bob,  that 
makes  you  lay  away  your  gun,"  said  one. 

"If  it's  any  religious  guff,  don't  give  it  to  us,"  said 
a  ranchman  who  took  pride  in  being  known  as  an 
atheist. 

"Hold  on  there,  pardner!"  said  Sam  McChesney, 
addressing  the  ranchman.  "You'd  better  not  get  to 
ridin'  too  fast  till  you're  sure  which  way  the  herd's 
headin'.  Me  'nd  Bob  here  've  punched  cows  together 
for  five  years.  I  never  had  no  kick  comin'  at  him, 
but  in  the  last  year  I've  seen  a  change  in  him.  He's 
been  a  better  cowpuncher;  he's  been  a  better  fellow 
to  be  with.  We  used  to  could  bet  on  him — most  of 
the  time,  but  there  was  times  when  he  was  like  the 
rest  of  us — a  little  uncertain.  You  can  bank  on  him 
now  every  minute  of  the  time.  I  suspicioned  he  was 
gettin'  it  from  Young,  because  he  was  gettin'  more 
like  Young  all  the  time — and  that  ain't  no  bad  way 
to  be.  I  made  up  my  mind  I  wanted  to  learn  the 
game.  I  wanted  to  set  in  the  first  chance  I  got,  for  I 
believe  it's  a  winner." 

"There's  where  you  chucked  five  aces  the  first  dash 
out  of  the  box,  son  Sam,"  said  Bob.  "The  game  is  a 
winner,  a  sure  winner,  'nd  I'd  like  to  put  you  all  on, 
I've  win  $500  out  of  it,  besides  feelin'  better  than  I 
ever  did  in  my  life  before.  I  don't  claim  to  know  all 


THE     BISHOP  111 

about  it,  but  I've  got  a  cinch  on  some  of  it,  and 
more's  comin'  to  me  all  the  time.  Ever  since  I 
started  in  at  it  things  has  been  comin'  my  way.  It 
makes  a  fellow  feel  as  if  he  had  lots  of  relations  'nd 
they  was  all  friendly  to  him  'nd  he  liked  all  of  them. 
He  don't  feel  no  grudge  against  nobody,  for  he  feels 
dead  sure  every  one  of  the  other  fellows  is  doin'  the 
best  he  knows  how.  He  feels  like  treatin'  his  horse 
as  well  as  he  can.  You  know  how  Bill  Young  is  that 
way.  He  won't  see  even  a  burro  get  the  worst  of  it. 
He  can  go  out  on  the  range  'nd  walk  up  to  any  horse 
or  colt  he  owns — he  don't  need  to  walk  to  'em;  they'll 
come  to  him.  Then  how  is  he  with  men?  How  many 
nights  has  he  stayed  with  us  just  to  look  after  us  like 
we  was  his  own  children  when  we  was  boozin'  'nd 
buckin'  faro  'nd  him  not  drinkin'  a  drop  nor  playin' 
a  chip?  Now,  what  makes  a  man  act  that  way  with 
men  'nd  with  horses  'nd  with  everything?  I  tell  you 
what  it  is — it's  love.  It  sounds  pretty  queer  to  some 
of  you,  maybe,  a  cowpuncher  bein'  in  love  with  men, 
but  it's  a  God's  fact  just  the  same. 

"We've  all  been  thinkin'  that  we  was  awful  wicked 
'nd  bound  to  go  to  hell  unless  we  put  on  a  long  face 
'nd  joined  some  church.  We've  been  thinkin'  we 
was  all  born  bad,  'nd  it  was  as  natural  for  us  to  be  bad 
as  it  is  for  a  lot  of  Texas  steeers  to  stick  up  their  tails 
'nd  stampede  in  a  thunderstorm.  It  ain't  so.  We  was 
born  good,  'nd  it's  easier  to  be  good  than  not  to. 


"I  don't  mean  the  kind  of  good  that  white-neck- 
tied  shorthorn  from  Indiana  was  talkin'  about  at  the 
revival  meetin'  last  winter.  He  meant  all  right,  but 
he  was  on  the  wrong  trail.  The  medicine  he  was 
peddlin'  was  bad  to  take  'nd  wouldn't  do  what  was 
claimed  for  it. 

"Tom  over  there  says  he  don't  want  to  hear  nothin' 
about  religion.  But  there  ain't  no  long-faced,  win 
ter-steer  business  about  this  kind  of  religion.  It's 
love.  It's  the  same  feelin'  your  mother  had  for  you 
'nd  you  had  for  your  mother.  There  ain't  nothin' 
about  it  to  make  a  man  feel  like  a  coyote  after  a  four- 
foot  fall  of  snow. 

"There  ain't  none  of  us  but  what  believes  in  God, 
but  we've  always  thought  God  was  too  far  off  for  us 
to  understand  or  know  anything  about.  It  ain't  so. 
God  is  right  here,  in  us  'nd  all  about  us  'nd  a  part  of 
us.  We  can't  any  more  get  away  from  God  than  we 
can  from  the  air  we  breathe. 

"It's  the  same  with  religion.  It's  born  in  us.  It's 
part  of  us  'nd  we  can't  get  away  from  it,  'nd  we 
wouldn't  want  to  if  we  could.  There  ain't  no  mourn 
er's  bench  business  about  it.  All  you've  got  to  do 
is  to  let  the  light  shine  into  you  'nd  you'll  get  there 
all  right  enough.  You  can  try  it  for  yourself  'nd  you 
can  tell  every  time  whether  it's  the  right  brand.  If  it 
makes  you  feel  good  toward  everybody  'nd  want  to  do 
everybody  a  good  turn  'nd  help  everybody,  then  you 


THE     BISHOP  113 

can  bet  your  saddle  against  a  white  chip  it's  the 
straight  goods. 

"Just  look  into  yourselves  'nd  you'll  find  that 
what's  inside,  the  thinkin'  part,  cuts  a  lot  more  ice 
than  the  part  that  wears  clothes.  That's  the  only 
sure-enough  man.  If  you  just  let  that  part  of  you 
boss  the  job  for  awhile,  you'll  find  the  sunshine  '11 
seem  brighter,  the  air  '11  seem  better  to  breathe,  the 
whole  world  '11  seem  a  better  place  to  live  in  'nd  life 
'11  seem  a  whole  lot  more  worth  livin'.  The  whole 
thing  about  it  all  is — love." 

Such  a  talk  as  this,  coming  from  the  source  it  did, 
was  a  matter  of  surprise  and  wonder  to  those  who 
heard  it.  Perhaps  none  of  them  all  was  more  sur 
prised  at  it  than  Bob  himself.  He  had  never  before 
attempted  anything  of  this  kind,  and,  although  he 
had  remained  seated  on  the  soap  box  throughout,  he 
had  as  he  proceeded  shown  fervor  and  become  al 
most  eloquent.  When  he  had  ceased  speaking  most 
of  his  auditors  remained  silent  and  more  or  less 
thoughtful.  A  few  expressed  approval,  while  some 
others,  including  the  ranchman,  Tom,  were  disposed 
to  sneer.  But  Bob  Thompson  was  not  exactly  a  fit 
subject  of  ridicule  in  that  crowd.  His  personal  cour 
age  was  well  known,  while  his  loyalty  to  his  friends 
was  recognized  by  all  who  knew  him.  With  most  of 
those  who  heard  him  what  Bob  said  "went" — at 


114  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

least,  they  knew  he  was  sincere  and  would  "staj 
with  it." 

Finally  Sam  McChesney  spoke  up:  "I  tell  you,  fel 
lows,  what  let's  do.  I  b'lieve  Bob's  guessed  it  about 
right,  for  I've  seen  how  this  thing  has  worked  on 
him.  When  I  see  apples  on  a  tree  I  conclude  that's 
an  apple  tree.  Let's  make  Bob  bishop  of  this  round 
up  district  'nd  get  him  to  talk  to  us  once  in  awhile 
when  we  can  get  together." 

Most  of  those  present  evinced  their  approbation  of 
the  proposal  with  "That's  the  stuff!"  "Let  'er  go!" 
"What's  the  matter  with  Bishop  Bob?"  "He's  all 
right!"  and  similar  exclamations. 

"Is  there  any  objections  to  this  here  proposition?" 
asked  Sam,  looking  around. 

"Then  it  goes,"  he  said,  as  no  one  responded. 

In  some  places  and  with  some  assemblies  the  ac 
tion  just  recorded  would  have  evinced  a  want  of  re 
spect  for  the  person  on  whom  the  title  was  conferred, 
but  it  was  not  so  here.  Beneath  the  jocularity  of  the 
proceedings  was  a  desire  to  distinguish  Bob  and  show 
him  a  mark  of  their  consideration. 

Thus  it  was  that  Bob  Thompson  found  his  op 
portunity  and  began  his  career  of  work  for  others 
among  a  class  of  men  popularly  supposed  to  be  quite 
indifferent  concerning  the  matters  about  which  he 
talked  to  them. 


CHAPTER  X. 

JOHN   DOE. 

A  new  mining  town  presents  some  phases  of  lite 
not  met  with  in  any  other  place.  The  population  of 
such  a  town  is  necessarily  composed  of  people  who  are 
anxious  to  make  money  quickly,  some  of  them  in 
tending  to  do  so  by  honest  means,  and  a  good  many 
others  who  are  not  particular  ahout  the  means  so 
they  get  it.  It  is  a  heterogeneous  population  made  up 
of  contributions  from  many  countries,  states,  cities 
and  towns.  The  great  body  of  the  people  are  stran 
gers  to  each  other.  Lots  which  one  or  two  years  be 
fore  could  not  have  been  sold  for  a  dollar  apiece  now 
bring  thousands,  and  are  often  bought  and  sold  again 
the  same  day  with  a  profit  of  hundreds  and  even 
thousands  of  dollars.  The  sounds  of  the  hammer  and 
saw  are  heard  on  all  sides.  Wooden  buildings  spring 
up  with  almost  magical  rapidity  and  become  occu 
pied  at  once  by  tenants  who  pay  fabulous  rentals.  A 
bank  is  opened  and  men  stand  in  line  and  wait  half  an 
hour  to  get  a  chance  to  deposit  their  money.  The 
postoffice,  which,  owing  to  what  is  termed  red  tape, 


116  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

cannot  be  suddenly  enlarged  to  meet  exigencies,  is 
simply  overwhelmed  with  business.  Everything  goes 
with  a  whirl.  At  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night  the 
streets  seem  full  of  men  rushing  hither  and  thither. 
The  chase  after  the  dollar  seems  to  have  superseded 
every  other  thought  in  the  minds  of  all  the  people. 

Among  the  first  to  rush  to  these  new  towns  are 
liquor  sellers  and  gamblers.  Every  other  door  along 
the  business  streets  is  a  saloon.  In  about  half  of 
these  saloons  are  to  be  found  games  of  one  kind  and 
another  calculated  to  gather  in  the  dollars  of  the  un 
wary.  Professional  gamblers  and  crooks  of  all  kinds 
are  to  be  found  in  great  numbers,  and  they  have  or 
succeed  in  quickly  establishing  a  sort  of  freemasonry 
among  themselves.  It  thus  occurs  that  these  people, 
acting  in  concert,  always  succeed  in  "running"  a  new 
mining  camp,  at  least  for  a  time.  There  is  usually 
some  recognized  boss  or  "king"  among  them,  who,  by 
whatsoever  means  he  may  have  attained  to  the  throne, 
exercises  for  the  time  being  a  kingly  power  over  the 
destinies  of  the  place  where  he  is  located. 

In  the  latter  eighties  the  mining  town  of  G ,  in 

Colorado,  was  having  a  boom.  Valuable  ore  had  been 
struck  and  within  six  months  there  was  a  town  of  six 
to  eight  thousand  inhabitants,  situated  on  ground 
wholly  uninhabited  before.  The  fraternity  of  gam 
blers  and  crooks  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  speak 
ing  was  headed  by  a  man  known  as  Buck  Brady,  and 


JOHN     DOE  117 

it  was  well  understood  that  the  town  was  "run"  by 
the  Buck  Brady  gang.  Persons  accustomed  to  live  in 
a  community  with  ample  police  protection  and  where 
there  is  reasonable  security  for  person  and  property 
oan  hardly  realize  the  extent  of  the  power  exercised 
by  the  head  of  a  gang  under  these  circumstances.  If 
a  merchant  or  business  man  incurs  the  enmity  of  the 
gang  he  is  in  danger.  It  may  be  that  he  will  be 
openly  told  to  vamose  the  diggings — an  order  which 
he  will  be  wise  if  he  obeys;  or  it  may  be  that  without 
warning  an  accident  will  happen  to  him — it  is  likely 

to  be  a  fatal  accident.    In  the  town  of  G at  this 

time  was  a  bartender  named  Phil  Ditson,  who  was 
understood  to  be  a  member  of  or  at  least  to  "stand  in" 
with  the  Buck  Brady  gang.  At  this  particular  time  he 
was  filling  the  position  of  nightwatch  in  the  Red- 
light  saloon.  One  morning  between  four  and  five 
o'clock  some  men  walking  on  the  street,  among  whom 
was  a  deputy  sheriff,  heard  a  revolver  shot.  The 
sound  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  Redlight  saloon. 
They  arrived  at  the  saloon,  as  they  afterward  testi 
fied,  about  half  a  minute,  or,  at  the  most,  a  minute 
after  the  shot  was  fired.  At  a  round  table  about 
fifteen  feet  from  the  end  of  the  bar  nearest  the  back 
door  of  the  saloon  stood  a  man  holding  in  his  hand 
a  revolver,  the  smoke  from  which  still  filled  the  air 
about  him.  He  was  the  only  person  to  be  seen  in  the 
room.  The  deputy  sheriff  took  the  gun  from  him 


118  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

without  any  resistance  being  offered,  and  said: 
"Who'd  you  shoot  at?"  The  man  muttered  as  if  to 
himself,  "My  chance  to  get  even."  Just  then  there 
was  an  exclamation  from  a  man  who  had  walked 
around  the  end  of  the  bar.  There  lay  the  body  of 
Phil  Ditson,  the  bartender,  a  pool  of  blood  about  his 
head.  An  examination  showed  a  bullet  wound  just 
above  the  left  eye.  His  death  had  evidently  been  in 
stantaneous.  On  a  shelf  above  and  just  back  of  where 
the  body  lay  was  a  large  revolver.  The  man  who  held 
the  smoking  revolver  and  who  evidently  had  done  the 
shooting  presented  the  appearance  of  a  tramp.  His 
hair  and  beard  were  unkempt  and  his  face  bloated 
with  whisky.  Aside  from  the  words  muttered  when 
the  deputy  sheriff  first  approached  him  he  could  not 
be  induced  to  speak  of  the  affair.  He  was  put  under 
arrest  and  locked  up  in  the  log  cabin  which  served  as 
a  jail. 

That  night  a  number  of  the  Buck  Brady  gang  got 
together  to  discuss  the  advisability  of  lynching  the 
tramp  who  had  shot  Phil  Ditson.  The  consensus  of 
opinion  among  them  was  that  they'd  better  go  to  the 
jail,  take  him  out  and  string  him  up;  but  Brady  him. 
self  turned  the  tide  by  telling  them  he  had  been  at  the 
jail  to  look  at  the  fellow;  that  the  prisoner  seemed 
rational  on  other  subjects,  but  didn't  seem  to  realize 
that  he  had  killed  a  man,  and  simply  looked  blank 
and  wouldn't  talk  when  spoken  to  about  it.  Brady 


JOHN     DOE  119 

concluded  that  the  fellow  was  off  in  the  upper  story 
and  advised  his  followers,  for  business  reasons,  to  let 
the  law  take  its  course.  The  fact  was  that  of  late 
Brady  had  observed  indications  of  a  growing  disposi 
tion  among  the  decent  element  of  the  citizens  to  re 
volt  against  a  continuance  of  his  rule.  He  knew  the 
time  would  come,  sooner  or  later,  when  he  must  move 
on,  and  he  was  anxious  not  to  have  his  people  do  any 
thing  to  hasten  the  coming  of  that  time. 

Thus  it  occurred  that  the  prisoner,  by  reason  of 
circumstances  beyond  his  control,  escaped  lynching, 
and  after  a  preliminary  examination  was  sent  to  the 
county  jail  in  another  town  to  await  trial  on  the 
charge  of  murder. 

The  body  of  Ditson  was  buried  the  day  he  was  shot, 
in  the  new  cemetery,  most  of  the  occupants  of  which 
had  died,  as  Ditson  did,  with  their  boots  on.  After 
the  removal  of  the  body  from  the  saloon  the  floor 
where  he  had  fallen  was  scrubbed  and  business  was 
not  interrupted  for  more  than  an  hour.  At  the  end 
of  a  week  the  very  name  of  the  deceased  would  have 
been  forgotten  but  for  the  fact  that  it  appeared  in 
the  proceedings  against  the  man  who  had  shot  him. 

The  strictest  inquiry  that  could  be  made-  under  the 
circumstances  failed  to  throw  any  light  on  the  iden 
tity  of  the  prisoner.  That  of  itself  was  not  a  very  re 
markable  circumstance  at  that  time  and  in  that 
place.  There  were  a  good  many  people  in  the  camp 


120  THE     LABGER     FAITH 

who  could  not  have  been  identified  had  they  chosen 
to  be  silent  concerning  themselves.  Occasionally  a 
man  died  who,  for  all  that  could  be  learned  of  him, 
had  been  a  stranger  and  absolutely  without  an  ac 
quaintance  in  the  camp.  Perhaps  a  few  persons  had 
known  him  for  a  brief  time,  but  all  they  could  tell 
about  him  was  that  he  had  been  known  by  the  name 
"Shorty"  or  "Bed."  In  such  cases  the  body  was 
buried,  or  at  least  put  in  the  ground,  and  a  month 
later  the  best  detective  agency  could  not  have  learned 
anything  of  the  circumstances,  for  everybody  would 
have  forgotten  all  about  them. 

From  the  time  of  his  arrest  the  prisoner  pursued  a 
policy  of  absolute  silence  concerning  himself  and  the 
offense  with  which  he  stood  charged.  He  would  talk 
about  other  things,  but  it  was  impossible  to  entrap 
him  into  any  statement  whatever  on  either  of  these 
two  subjects.  He  was  bound  over  as  John  Doe.  Dur 
ing  the  first  few  days  of  his  incarceration  he  seemed 
to  be  suffering  from  extreme  nervousness.  He  could 
not  eat  or  sleep.  He  was  easily  startled.  He  walked 
about  the  narrow  limits  of  his  cell  like  a  caged  wild 
animal. 

When  he  had  been  in  the  jail  three  of  four  days  in 
this  condition  a  thought  struck  the  sheriff.  The  man 
was  off  his  whisky;  perhaps  he'd  let  down  for  a  drink. 
Of  course  it  wasn't  strictly  according  to  law,  but  the 


JOHN     DOE  121 

authorities  wanted  to  locate  the  prisoner.  He  would 
try  it.  He  said  to  the  prisoner: 

"How  would  you  like  a  good  square  drink?" 

The  look  on  the  prisoner's  face  convinced  the  sher 
iff  that  he  had  guessed  right. 

"I'll  get  you  a  pint,  or  a  quart  if  you  want  it,  of  the 
best  whisky  to  be  had  if  you'll  give  up  your  name  and 
tell  where  you're  from,"  he  said. 

For  a  moment  he  was  sure  he  had  won.  John  Doe 
began  to  answer.  Then,  with  what  seemed  to  be  an 
effort,  he  turned  away  and  preserved  his  silence.  He 
couldn't  be  tempted  after  that. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  his  condition  had  improved. 
He  had  some  appetite  for  food;  he  could  sleep,  and 
he  was  less  nervous  than  he  had  been.  From  that 
time  till  his  trial,  which  occurred  two  months  after 
the  homicide,  he  improved  in  both  appearance  and 
health. 

He  was  indicted  as  "John  Doe,  whose  real  name  is 
unknown,"  for  murder  in  the  first  degree.  When 
taken  into  court  he  was  asked  by  the  judge:  "Have 
you  engaged  counsel  to  defend  you?" 

"I  have  not,"  answered  the  prisoner. 

"Have  you  any  money  or  means  with  which  to  em 
ploy  counsel?"  asked  the  judge. 

"I  have  not,"  answered  the  prisoner. 

After  glancing  about  the  courtroom  and  then  over 


122  THE     LABGER     FAITH 

his  docket  the  judge  said:  "I  will  appoint  Mr.  James 
Crow  as  your  counsel." 

The  prisoner  bowed. 

"Will  you  be  ready  to  plead  by  to-morrow  morn 
ing,  Mr.  Crow?"  asked  the  court. 

"I  have  not  yet  examined  the  indictment,  but  I 
think  we  shall  be  able  to  plead  by  that  time,"  an 
swered  the  young  lawyer. 

"He  will  be  arraigned  in  the  morning,  then,"  said 
the  court.  "You  can  examine  the  indictment  and 
consult  with  him  in  the  meantime." 

The  prisoner  was  returned  to  the  jail  and  soon 
thereafter  his  attorney  called,  having  with  him  a  copy 
of  the  indictment.  The  sheriff  conducted  them  to  a 
room  in  the  corner  of  the  jail,  where  they  could  talk 
in  privacy. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Crow,  "I  wish  you'd  tell  me  the 
facts  so  that  I  can  prepare  a  defense." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  replied  the  prisoner,  "but  I 
have  nothing  to  say,  even  to  you." 

"But,  my  God,  man,  they're  liable  to  send  you  up 
for  life,"  exclaimed  Crow.  "I  don't  think  from  what 
I've  heard  that  they  can  hang  you,  but  they  may  do 
even  that." 

"Still,  I  have  nothing  to  say,"  said  the  prisoner. 

"How  do  you  expect  me  to  defend  you  unless  you 
tell  me  the  facts?"  asked  Crow. 

"I  don't  expect  it.    If  you  wish  to  talk  with  me, 


JOHN    DOE  123 

Mr.  Crow,  let  us  change  the  subject/'  said  the  pris 
oner. 

In  order  to  learn  something  of  the  man  he  had  to 
deal  with,  Crow  assented,  and  for  some  time  they 
conversed  on  other  subjects.  Every  attempt,  how 
ever,  to  get  the  prisoner  to  talk  about  himself  or  the 
homicide  resulted  in  his  quiet  but  polite  refusal  to  say 
a  word. 

Mr.  James  Crow  was,  as  has  been  said,  a  young 
lawyer.  This  was  his  first  murder  case,  and  his  ap 
pointment  had  raised  within  his  breast  high  hopes  of 
being  able  to  benefit  himself,  perhaps  distinguish 
himself,  and  incidentally  help  the  prisoner,  by  his 
conduct  of  the  case.  But  here  was  an  unheard-of 
state  of  affairs.  However,  he  must  find  some  way 
out  or  there  wouldn't  be  much  chance  for  that  elo 
quent  speech  which  he  had  already  begun  to  formu 
late. 

The  next  morning  when  John  Doe  was  about  to  be 
arraigned  his  attorney  said:  "If  your  honor  please, 
I  am  at  a  loss  just  how  to  proceed.  The  prisoner  has 
refused  to  say  a  word  to  me  about  his  case  or  himself. 
I  will  ask  to  have  him  examined  as  to  his  sanity." 

"You  can  plead  now  if  you  are  ready,"  said  the 
court,  "and  an  examination  can  be  made  between  now 
and  the  time  set  for  trial."  So  the  indictment  was 
read,  the  attorney  entered  a  plea  of  not  guilty,  the 


124  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

trial  was  set  for  the  following  Monday,  and  John  Doe 
was  returned  to  jail. 

The  physicians  sent  by  Mr.  Crow  to  examine  into 
the  sanity  of  the  defendant  reported  him  perfectly 
sane,  and  the  next  Monday  morning  the  case  of  The 
People  of  the  State  of  Colorado  vs.  John  Doe  was 
called  for  trial. 

Mr.  Crow's  idea  had  been  that  the  case  would  re 
quire  at  least  a  week  for  trial.  He  expected  to  take 
up  two  or  three  days  in  getting  a  jury,  for  it  was  a 
murder  case;  then  the  putting  in  of  evidence  would 
take  at  least  two  days,  for  his  cross-examination  of 
witnesses  would  be  made  notable,  and  necessarily  be 
long,  and  when  it  came  to  the  argument  he  expected 
to  occupy  a  full  half-day,  and  perhaps  a  day.  But 
things  do  not  always  turn  out  as  expected,  or  even 
as  they  are  planned.  The  jurors  were  provokingly 
ignorant  of  the  case  they  were  called  to  try.  Not  one 
of  them  knew  the  defendant  or  had  ever  heard  of  the 
deceased.  Most  of  them  had  never  heard  of  the  homi 
cide.  They  were  not  related  to  counsel  on  either 
side,  and  they  had  no  scruples  of  any  kind  against 
capital  punishment — a  point  on  which  Mr.  Crow  was 
very  insistent  in  his  examination. 

After  examining  each  juror  as  fully  as  he  knew 
how,  exhausting  all  his  peremptory  challenges,  and 
showing  much  zeal,  a  jury  was  completed,  accepted 
and  sworn  in  a  little  before  noon. 


JOHN     DOE  125 

Evidence  substantiating  the  facts  already  stated 
was  put  in  very  briefly  on  behalf  of  the  people.  Mr. 
Crow  tried  to  cross-examine  each  witness  very  ex 
haustively,  but  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do  the  district 
attorney  rested  his  case  at  the  end  of  three  hours. 
There  being  no  evidence  to  offer  on  behalf  of  the  de 
fendant,  the  court  delivered  a  charge  to  the  jury  and 
the  district  attorney  had  finished  his  opening  ad 
dress  to  the  jury  when  court  adjourned  that  evening. 

Throughout  the  trial  the  defendant  remained  im 
perturbable.  There  was  nothing  defiant  about  his  de 
meanor;  he  was  simply  calm,  undemonstrative  and 
apparently  indifferent. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Crow  began  an  address 
which  was  to  last  till  noon  at  the  very  least.  The 
first  half-dozen  sentences  of  his  speech — which  he 
had  memorized  and  carefully  rehearsed — clearly  dem 
onstrated  his  superiority  over  the  district  attorney  83 
an  orator.  When  he  had  talked  an  hour  he  began 
to  repeat  himself;  fifteen  minutes  later  the  jurors 
were  getting  uneasy  in  their  seats.  By  the  time  he 
had  consumed  an  hour  and  a  half  he  had  repeated 
himself  many  times  and  could  not  think  of  another 
thing  to  say,  so  he  delivered  himself  of  his  carefully 
prepared  peroration,  thanked  the  jury  for  their  close 
attention — which  he  hadn't  had  for  some  time — and 
sat  down  without  any  of  the  murmurs  of  applause 
throughout  the  courtroom  which  he  had  imagined 


126  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

would  require  the  stern  rebuke  of  the  court  to  sup 
press.  The  district  attorney  spent  fifteen  minutes  in 
reply  and  asked  the  jury  to  return  a  verdict  of  murder 
in  the  second  degree.  The  jury  retired  and  hung  for 
about  seven  minutes,  when  they  returned  with  a  ver 
dict  rinding  John  Doe  guilty  of  murder  in  the  sec 
ond  degree.  In  justice  to  the  defendant's  attorney  it 
should  be  said  that  it  is  difficult  to  make  a  cake  with 
out  dough;  and  it  may  be  added  that  it  is  sometimes 
just  as  well  not  to  go  through  the  motions  of  making 
the  cake  unless  one  has  some  dough  to  work  on. 

Mr.  Crow's  motion  for  a  new  trial  was  overruled 
and  his  client  was  sentenced  to  hard  labor  during  the 
term  of  his  natural  life  in  the  penitentiary  at  Canon 
City,  to  which  place  the  sheriff  shortly  thereafter  con 
veyed  him,  where  he  became  No.  3708. 

Before  closing  this  account  of  the  case  of  The  Peo 
ple  of  the  State  of  Colorado  vs.  John  Doe  it  may  be 
remarked  that  Mr.  James  Crow  is  still  practicing 
law,  and  to  such  eminence  has  he  risen  that  his  name, 
Sn  an  abbreviated  form,  is  used  to  designate  a  class  of 
practitioners  and  their  kind  of  practice. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

TWO    LETTERS. 

In  the  December  following  Darrell's  departure 
from  the  ranch  Young  received  from  him  a  letter,  of 
which  the  following  is  a  copy,  omitting  some  minor 
points: 

"Mr  DEAR  SIR: 

"Two  reasons  have  prevented  my  writing  sooner 
after  the  receipt  of  your  favor  of  nearly  two  months 
ago.  The  first  is  that  I  have  been  very  busy  and  absent 
from  the  city  most  of  the  time;  the  second  is  that  I  do 
not  know  just  how  to  put  in  words  and  on  paper  what 
I  want  to  say. 

"I  shall  have  to  beg  your  pardon  in  advance  for 
making  this  so  personal  and  so  selfish  a  letter.  It  is 
about  myself  and  for  myself  that  I  want  your  views. 

"To  give  you  a  full  understanding  of  the  situation 
it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  begin  a  good  way  back. 
My  parents  were  both  strict  members  of  the  Presby 
terian  church,  and  I  was  brought  up  in  accordance 
with  the  doctrines  of  that  church.  As  a  child  I  had 
not  a  doubt  that  every  word  in  the  bible  was  the  word 
of  God,  and,  of  course,  literally  true. 

"I  continued  in  this  state  of  mind  and  in  a  full  and 


128  THE     LARGEK     FAITH 

entire  belief  in  the  bible  till  I  was  16  or  17  years  old. 
Then  I  began  to  have  doubts,  at  first  of  the  truth  of 
parts  of  the  old  testament,  then  of  the  new;  and  after 
awhile  I  did  not  believe  any  part  of  the  bible.  Then 
there  was  a  kind  of  reaction.  I  thought  perhaps  it 
was  true,  or,  at  least,  that  part  of  it  was  true.  After 
being  in  this  state  of  mind  for  awhile  I  concluded  I 
did  not  know,  and  could  not  find  out  anything  about 
it.  I  quit  thinking  about  the  matter  altogether  and 
became  an  agnostic.  All  matters  relating  to  religion 
were  settled  for  me,  I  thought,  by  my  settled  agnos 
ticism.  This  was  my  state  of  mind  when  I  met  you. 
Somehow,  at  your  ranch,  I  began  to  doubt  my  doubts, 
if  you  can  understand  that.  I  began  to  question 
whether  my  state  of  universal  doubt  was  the  real  an 
swer — the  right  solution  to  the  question.  The  more 
I  thought  of  it,  and  of  some  things  you  said,  the  more 
I  wanted  to  hear  what  you  would  say  in  answer  to  my 
questions,  for  it  seemed  to  me  you  were  satisfied  in 
your  own  mind  as  to  what  is  true.  There  was  some 
thing  about  you  that  convinced  me  you  knew,  or 
thought  you  knew,  the  real  truth  that  I  want  to  get, 

"When  a  very  small  child  I  tried  to  reconcile  the 
statement  that  God  is  just  with  his  act  in  condemn 
ing  the  whole  race  on  account  of  Adam's  eating  an 
apple.  I  didn't  and  couldn't  understand  it,  but  sup 
posed  it  would  all  be  clear  to  me  when  I  should  grow 
older.  The  old  doubts  are  upon  me  again. 

"What  is  true?  Is  the  bible  true?  Is  religion — I 
mean,  of  course,  the  Christian  religion — true?  If  so, 
which  denomination  among  the  Christians  is  right? 
All  these  questions  and  a  good  many  others  growing 


TWO  LETTERS  129 

out  of  them  are  with  me,  and  I  am  not  able  to  settle 
them  for  myself. 

"Can  you  give  me  any  light? 

*   "      *          *          *          *          *          * 

"I  should  like  to  look  in  on  you  and  spend  an  even 
ing  with  you  at  the  ranch. 

"With  the  compliments  of  the  approaching  holiday 
season,  I  am  yours  respectfully, 

"JOHN  W.  DARRELL." 

A  few  days  after  receiving  the  letter,  Young  an 
swered  it  as  follows: 

"MY  DEAR  MR.  DARRELL: 

"From  some  remarks  you  dropped  while  here,  I 
guessed  the  state  of  your  mind.  Your  late  letter  would 
have  been  no  surprise  to  me,  even  had  you  not  stated 
in  a  former  communication  that  you  wished  at  a 
future  time  to  get  my  views. 

"Permit  me  to  suggest  at  the  outset  that  the  search 
for  truth  always  necessarily  involves  a  total  self-sur 
render,  an  absolute  giving  up  of  all  selfish  ideas,  no 
tions  and  plans,  and  a  willingness  to  accept  the  truth 
when  found,  regardless  of  preconceived  theories. 

"Every  advance  in  knowledge,  whether  in  the  line 
of  what  we  call  the  natural  sciences  or  in  spiritual 
truth,  is  at  first  looked  upon  as  an  innovation  and  an 
intrusion.  The  man  who  first  declared  the  earth  to 
be  spherical  was  regarded  as  a  crank;  so  was  the  in 
ventor  of  the  electric  telegraph,  of  the  steamship,  and 
of  nearly  every  other  .innovation  on  established  no 
tions.  As  with  these  persons  and  their  work  in 


130  THE     LARGEE     FAITH 

physical  science,  so  it  has  been  with  those  who  first 
advocated  any  advance  in  thought,  and  especially  in 
religious  thought.  Jesus  Christ  was  killed  because  His 
teachings  conflicted  with  the  existing  opinions  and  es 
tablished  customs  of  the  time  in  which  He  lived. 

"Your  letter  shows  me  that  you  have  fallen  into  the 
most  common  of  all  errors  in  the  consideration  of 
questions  relating  to  religion.  You  have  confused  re 
ligion  with  orthodoxy.  Religion  and  orthodoxy  are 
not  only  different  things — they  are  opposite  things 
and  antagonistic  the  one  to  the  other.  They  act  from 
entirely  different  motives,  so  to  speak.  They  spring 
from  entirely  different  sources.  Orthodoxy  is  my  doxy. 
It  is  the  faith  which  I  and  those  who  agree  with  me  hold 
on  religious  questions.  Orthodoxy  recognizes  no  truth 
outside  its  own  teachings,  no  road  to  heaven  but  the 
one  fenced  in  by  its  creed — a  fence  which  can  be 
neither  crawled  under,  climbed  over  nor  broken 
through,  in  which  there  are  no  gates,  save  those 
swinging  outward  and  having  no  handles  on  the  out 
side.  To  be  orthodox  one  must  start  in  at  the  begin 
ning  of  the  road,  continue  to  the  end,  and  be  more 
careful  than  a  Colorado  miner  to  keep  within  the  side 
lines. 

"Religion  never  incited  a  war,  conducted  a  crusade, 
fought  a  battle  or  held  an  inquisition  on  the  faith  of 
any  person.  Orthodoxy  has  done  all  these  things  in 
the  name  of  religion.  Religion  never  put  a  human 
being  to  death.  Orthodoxy  has  killed  untold  thou 
sands. 

"Orthodoxy  murdered  Jesus  Christ  because  he  was 
unorthodox.  It  killed  a  few  hundred  people  in  this 


TWO  LETTERS  .131 

country  and  a  great  many  thousands  across  the  ocean 
on  the  charge  of  witchcraft.  It  conducted  the  Span, 
ish  Inquisition. 

"All  these  crimes  and  nameless  others  orthodoxy 
has  committed  in  the  name  of  religion.  It  has  at  dif 
ferent  times  and  in  different  places  assumed  to  be 
every  known  form  of  religion,  not  excepting  that 
founded  by  the  great  Nazarene,  one  of  whose  precepts 
was  'Judge  not  that  ye  be  not  judged.' 

"Orthodoxy  still  masquerades  under  the  name  of  re 
ligion.  It  is  the  spirit  of  intolerance,  the  child  of 
bigotry  and  hate.  Its  refuge  is  hypocrisy;  its  chief 
weapon  is  cant.  It  is  of  the  nature  of  the  brute  seek 
ing  to  obtain  dominance  and  mastery  by  force. 

"Religion  is  the  conscious  knowledge  of  man's  re 
lationship  to  God.  It  is,  indeed,  the  very  spirit  of  God 
— universal — all-pervading  love — made  manifest  in 
man.  Religion  attracts,  but  never  seeks  to  drive. 

"I  have  said  thus  much,  not  for  the  purpose  of  con 
demning  the  orthodox,  but  to  point  out  as  clearly  as 
I  can  the  distinction  between  religion  and  orthodoxy 
and  the  line  of  demarcation  which  separates  them. 

"Fifty  years  ago  it  was  very  generally  preached  that 
there  was  a  literal  hell  of  fire  and  brimstone,  into 
which  a  large  part  of  the  human  race  would  be  cast, 
there  to  suffer  eternal  torture;  and  any  one  who  de 
clared  a  disbelief  in  that  doctrine  was  denounced  as  an 
infidel.  To-day  there  cannot  be  found  an  enlightened 
preacher  who  believes  in  or  preaches  that  doctrine. 
To  an  extent  which  can  hardly  be  comprehended  now, 
especially  by  the  younger  people,  that  sort  of  teach 
ing  was  then  supposed  by  many  good  people  to  be  re- 


132  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

ligion.  Why?  Because  orthodoxy  was  posing  in  the 
name  of  religion  then  as  it  is  now,  and  that  was  what 
orthodoxy  then  taught. 

"Is  it  strange  that  the  counterfeit,  the  miserable 
caricature  which  at  various  times — and  even  within 
forty  or  fifty  years — has  passed  for  the  Christian  re 
ligion  should  drive  so  many  people  into  what  has  been 
termed  infidelity?  Is  it  not  surprising,  rather,  that 
those  man-made  creeds,  dogmas  and  articles  of  faith, 
embodying  as  they  do  the  most  absurd  interpretations 
of  the  bible,  should  have  had  any  believers  or  pre 
tended  believers? 

"But  there  is  no  caricature  without  an  original. 
There  is  no  counterfeit  until  there  has  been  some 
thing  genuine  to  counterfeit.  The  bible,  taken  as  a 
whole,  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  greatest  of  all  books,  and 
the  one  which  the  world  could  least  afford  to  lose.  It 
is  a  marvelously  complete  representation  of  humanity 
— of  the  human  heart  and  the  human  soul — not  the 
heart  and  soul  of  some  ancient  and  distant  people,  but 
your  own  and  mine — of  the  people  of  to-day.  Every 
human  passion  is  portrayed;  every  longing,  every  de 
sire,  every  aspiration,  is  analyzed  and  set  forth;  every 
phase  of  human  character  is  described.  Starting  with 
Adam,  the  earth  man,  the  lowest  type,  and  culmi 
nating  in  Jesus  Christ,  the  highest  type  the  world  has 
known,  the  bible,  in  its  comprehensive  delineation  of 
human  character,  its  unequaled  representations  of  the 
working  of  the  human  soul,  its  vast  compilation  of 
the  highest  spiritual  truth,  and  the  majestic  grandeur 
of  its  language,  is  unequaled  and  unapproached  by 
any  other  book. 


TWO  LETTEKS  133 

"But  you  ask  if  it  is  true.  Is  it  inspired?  Truth  is 
of  God,  is  eternal,  and  is  so  wherever  you  find  it, 
whether  in  the  bible  or  the  writings  and  sayings  of 
Plato,  Thomas  Carlyle  or  Emerson.  The  bible  is  true 
to  each  person  to  just  the  extent  that  he  can  discover 
truth  in  it;  so  is  any  other  book.  A  study  of  the  bible 
will  enable  any  thoughtful  person  to  discover  more 
and  more  truth  in  it  all  the  time.  Nothing  is  true  to 
you  which  you  cannot  comprehend  or  understand  in 
some  measure,  at  least.  For  instance,  a  book  printed 
in  a  language  wholly  unknown  to  you  could  have  in 
it  no  truth  for  you,  though  to  one  who  understands 
and  could  read  the  language  it  might  be  full  of  truth. 

"Viewed  merely  as  statements  of  historical  fact,  the 
account  of  creation  in  Genesis  is  absurd  and  meaning 
less;  so  is  the  story  of  Adam  and  Eve  and  their  fall;  so 
are  the  accounts  of  the  ark,  of  Jonah,  of  Joshua  and 
of  the  sun  standing  still;  and  yet  it  is  but  a  short  time 
since  the  orthodox  world  was  up  in  arms  against  any 
man  who  refused  to  accept  these  stories  as  literally 
true — who  took  the  same  view  of  them,  in  short, 
which  is  now  taken  by  a  majority  of  orthodox  preach 
ers.  I  suppose  there  never  was  such  a  man  as  Job,  or, 
at  all  events,  one  who  went  through  just  the  experi 
ences  accredited  to  him;  but  the  Book  of  Job  has  been 
a  help  to  thousands,  and,  as  a  man  grows  older,  he  is 
able  more  and  more  to  appreciate  it  and  be  benefited 
by  it.  The  Book  of  Job  is  by  no  means  to  be  regarded 
as  a  lie  simply  because  it  is  not  a  literal  statement  of 
historical  fact. 

"  'As  a  man  thinketh  in  his  heart,  so  is  he,'  is  a 
truth  which  always  existed  and  always  will  exist.  It 


134  THE      LAKGER     FAITH 

is  true,  not  because  it  is  in  the  bible;  for  it  was  true 
before  it  was  put  in  the  bible,  and  would  have  been 
equally  true  if  it  had  not  been  in  the  bible.  'Except 
ye  become  as  little  children  ye  cannot  enter  into  the 
kingdom  of  heaven'  simply  expresses  an  eternal  fact 
which  always  existed,  and  would  always  have  been 
true  independently  of  its  being  given  utterance  by 
Jesus  Christ. 

"If  in  the  story  of  Jonah  you  can  see  nothing  but 
the  incredible  literal  statement  that  a  great  fish  swal 
lowed  a  man  and  after  three  days  threw  him  out  on 
dry  land  alive  and  well,  there  is  no  valuable  truth  for 
you  in  the  whole  story;  if  in  the  majestic  statement 
'And  God  said,  Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was 
light/  you  can  see  nothing  but  the  sudden  manu 
facture  and  putting  into  operation  of  an  immense 
light  plant,  there  is  nothing  in  that  which  is  of  any 
use  to  you. 

"Let  me  suggest  to  you  not  to  trouble  yourself 
about  your  salvation.  It  is  simply  a  question  of  letting 
yourself  be  saved;  and  salvation  comes  in  this  life — 
notinthe  next.  Heaven  is  a  condition — not  a  location. 
All  may  achieve  that  condition  at  once.  It  exists  for 
us  all  now.  Salvation  is  not  a  matter  of  groanings  and 
regrets,  but  only  of  recognizing  our  true  relationship 
to  all  life,  to  all  nature,  to  God. 

"God's  great  love  surrounds  us  and  is  part  of  every 
human  being.  We  can  no  more  escape  from  it  than 
we  can  escape  from  the  atmosphere.  It  is  a  living, 
existing,  omnipresent  fact.  It  is  the  element  in  which 
we  live;  the  very  essence  of  all  life.  As  man  recog- 


TWO  LETTERS  135 

nizes  this  he  comes  into  a  knowledge  of  his  true  rela 
tion  to  the  Infinite. 

"Dismiss  all  fear;  get  rid  of  the  notion  that  you 
were  born  sinful  and  have  a  tendency  to  be  sinful; 
keep  in  mind  the  one  fundamental  truth  of  God's  ever- 
present  love,  and  all  questions  which  now  trouble  you 
will  vanish  away,  and  be  as  if  they  had  never  existed. 
Yours  very  truly,  WM.  YOUNG/' 


CHAPTER  XII. 

DICK   BRIGGS. 

On  one  of  the  principal  streets  of  the  little  city  of 

E ,  situate  on  the  Ohio  shore  of  Lake  Erie,  there 

was  a  ripple  of  excitement  one  August  afternoon.  A 
young  man  of  eignteen  or  nineteen  had  suddenly  and 
violently  struck  in  the  face  a  man  considerably  older 
and  larger  than  himself,  and  his  act  resulted  in  what 
was,  while  it  lasted,  a  very  lively  pugilistic  battle  be 
tween  the  two.  A  crowd  quickly  gathered,  but  for  a 
time  no  one  interfered.  The  younger  man  seemed  to 
have  overrated  his  own  ability  as  a  pugilist,  or  to 
have  misjudged  that  of  his  antagonist.  Although  he 
had  drawn  first  blood  at  the  outset,  the  older  one 
was  rapidly  demonstrating  his  superiority  as  a  fist 
fighter  when  a  policeman  appeared,  stopped  the  fight, 
put  both  men  under  arrest  and  started  with  them  for 
the  police  station. 

The  older  man,  aged  somewhere  in  the  forties,  was 
dressed  in  well-fitting  clothes  of  a  flashy,  loud  pat 
tern,  and  wore  a  silk  hat  pulled  low  over  the  eyes. 
His  close-shaven  face  had  a  hard,  set  expression,  and 


DICK    BK1QGS  137 

in  connection  with  his  dress  proclaimed  a  man  who 
had  probably  seen  many  horse  races,  prize  fights,  and 
other  games  of  a  quieter  but  equally  exciting  char 
acter.  He  was  still  furious  at  the  assault  made  on 
him  and  anxious  to  continue  the  task  of  demolishing 
his  assailant,  which  he  had  well  under  way  when  in 
terrupted  by  the  policeman.  The  younger  of  the 
combatants,  though  bleeding  from  various  face  blows 
and  showing  other  marks  of  the  encounter,  was  far 
from  being  subdued,  and  hotly  expressed  the  wish  that 
the  bluecoat  would  turn  the  two  of  them  loose  to 
gether  in  some  back  lot  for  a  short  time  and  take 
them  to  the  station  house  afterward. 

Arrived  at  the  police  station,  whither  they  had  been 
followed  by  three  or  four  men,  they  were  allowed  first 
to  wash  their  faces,  both  of  which  were  bleeding,  and 
then  were  conducted  to  the  desk  of  the  sergeant  in 
charge,  where  their  names  were  taken  and  the  charge 
of  disturbance  and  fighting  put  opposite  each.  When 
asked  if  they  could  furnish  bail  for  their  appearance 
next  morning,  both  answered  that  they  could  by  send 
ing  word  to  their  friends.  At  this  moment  a  man, 
who,  with  the  others,  had  followed  the  officer  and  his 
prisoners  to  the  station,  stepped  forward  and  said 
quietly:  "I  will  become  surety  for  this  young  man." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Hortou,"  said  the  sergeant,  looking 
up  at  the  speaker,  and  filling  out  a  recognizance  he 
pushed  it  over  the  desk  to  be  signed.  While  the  bond 


138  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

was  being  filled  out  the  young  man  had  looked  curi 
ously  at  the  man  the  sergeant  had  addressed  as  Mr. 
Horton.  He  was  a  tall  man,  thirty  or  thirty-two  years 
of  age,  with  rather  a  pale  face  and  something  of  re 
serve  in  his  manner.  When  the  young  man  had 
signed  the  bond  Mr.  Horton,  before  attaching  his  sig 
nature,  noted  that  the  name  of  the  accused  was  Rich 
ard  T.  Briggs. 

As  they  left  the  police  station  together,  the  young 
man  said:  "I'm  obliged  for  the  favor  you've  done 
me  in  standing  good  for  my  appearance  in  the  morn 
ing,  but  if  you  know  me  you  have  the  advantage 
of  me." 

"I  don't  think  we  ever  met  each  other  before,  Mr. 
Briggs,  but  I  was  passing  and  heard  what  that  fellow 
said  when  you  hit  him,  and  while  I  might  not  have 
done  just  what  you  did,  it  needed  doing,"  said  the 
older  man,  at  the  same  time  handing  the  other  his 
card. 

"Oh,  you're  Frank  Horton,  editor  of  the  Gazette/' 
said  Briggs,  looking  at  the  card.  "I've  known  of 
you,  but  had  never  met  you." 

As  they  separated  Horton  said:  "I'll  be  at  the  po» 
lice  court  in  the  morning  and  see  how  you  come  out." 

When  Eichard  T.  Briggs  stood  up  in  court  the  next 
morning  his  face  was  adorned  with  sundry  strips  of 
court-plaster. 


DICK    BRIGGS  139 

"You've  been  fighting  again?"  said  the  police 
judge,  gazing  sternly  at  the  young  man. 

"Yes,"  answered  Briggs. 

"Did  you  begin  it?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Yes,"  said  Briggs,  glancing  at  the  man  with 
whom  he  had  the  trouble,  "I  hit  him  first." 

"What  for?"  asked  the  magistrate. 

"For  making  an  insulting  remark  about  a  woman 
that  was  crossing  the  street,"  answered  Briggs. 

"Did  you  know  the  woman?"  said  the  judge. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  answered  Briggs,  "but  anybody 
could  see  she  was  a  lady." 

"If  your  honor  will  permit  me,"  said  Frank  Hor- 
ton,  stepping  forward  and  addressing  the  judge,  "I 
want  to  say  that  I  was  passing  just  at  the  time  of  the 
trouble,  and  heard  the  remark  that  fellow  made.  It 
was  most  vile  and  indecent,  and  I  felt  like  doing  just 
what  Mr.  Briggs  did.  I  happen  also  to  know  the  lady 
against  whom  the  remark  was  directed." 

"That's  all  right,  Mr.  Horton,"  said  the  magistrate, 
"but  Briggs  here  has  got  to  get  rid  of  the  notion  that 
he's  the  general  guardian  of  society  and  that  the  way 
to  regulate  things  is  with  his  fists."  Then  looking  at 
Briggs  he  said:  "This  is  the  second  time  you've  been 
here  inside  of  a  year,  and  the  other  charge  was  about 
the  same  as  this." 

"Yes,  judge,"  assented  Briggs. 

"I    suspended    sentence    before,"    continued    the 


140  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

judge;  "now  I  think  you  need  a  lesson  that'll  make 
you  quit  this." 

"Can't  help  it,  judge,"  said  Briggs.  "I'd  have  hit 
the  loafer  if  I  had  to  go  to  the  penitentiary  for  it  the 
next  minute." 

"I'll  make  this  $10  and  costs,"  said  the  magistrate. 

"I  want  to  pay  that  as  my  contribution  toward 
what  the  fellow  got,"  said  Horton,  stepping  forward 
and  taking  out  his  pocketbook. 

"Not  too  fast,  Mr.  Horton,"  said  the  judge,  and, 
looking  at  Briggs,  he  continued,  "This  sentence  stands 
suspended  during  good  behavior.  Now,  get  out  of 
here,  and  see  that  you  don't  come  back." 

"Thanks,  judge,"  said  Briggs. 

"Go!"  replied  the  magistrate. 

When  Briggs  had  left  the  courtroom  in  company 
with  Horton,  the  case  of  the  other  of  the  two  fight 
ers  was  taken  up. 

"What've  you  got  to  say  for  yourself?"  asked  the 
police  judge. 

"Why,  judge,  I  didn't  do  a  thing  but  defend  my 
self,"  said  the  man.  "That  kid  hit  me  in  the  eye 
without  any  warning." 

"You  had   made  an   insulting  remark  about   a 
woman?"  asked  the  magistrate. 

"Well,  I  s'pose  there's  no  law  against  a  man  mak 
ing  a  remark,"  said  the  man.  "It  wasn't  loud  enough 
for  her  to  hear." 


DICK    BRIGQS  141 

"Twenty-five  dollars  and  costs,"  said  the  judge. 

"But,  judge "  began  the  man. 

"Pay  up  or  go  below,"  interrupted  the  judge.  "I'll 
send  you  to  the  rock  pile  if  you  ever  come  back." 

"With  a  feeling  that  his  rights  as  an  American  citi 
zen  had  been  invaded,  the  man  drew  from  his  pocket 
a  roll  of  bills,  stripped  from  the  outside  the  necessary 
amount  to  pay  his  fine  and  costs,  and  left  the  court 
room  with  his  hat  pulled  lower  than  ever  over  his 
eyes. 

"I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Horton,"  said 
Briggs  when  he  and  his  companion  left  the  court 
room.  "It  was  what  you  said  that  made  the  old  man 
suspend  sentence  on  me  again." 

"That's  all  right,"  replied  Horton.  "I'd  have  paid 
your  fine  willingly  if  the  judge  hadn't  suspended  it." 

As  they  parted  from  each  other  at  a  street  corner 
Horton  said :  "Drop  in  and  see  me,  any  time.  You'll 
find  me  at  the  Gazette  office  in  the  afternoons." 

"Thank  you,  I'll  do  it,"  replied  Briggs. 

Though  the  two  men  were  dissimilar  in  their  dis 
positions  and  habits  as  they  were  in  age,  the  acquaint 
ance  thus  begun  ripened  into  a  friendship  between 
them.  Richard  Briggs — known  to  all  his  acquaint 
ances  as  Dick — was  athletic,  full-blooded  and  some 
what  impulsive  and  impetuous  in  disposition.  He  was 
warm-hearted  and  generous,  and  especially  chivalrous 
toward  all  womankind.  He  idolized  his  mother  and 


142  THE     LABGER     FAITH 

had  never  gotten  over  the  notion  that  his  sister 
Maude,  who  was  five  or  six  years  his  junior,  was  still 
a  baby  and  to  be  watched  over  and  petted  accordingly. 

His  brother  Tom  was  four  years  older  than  Dick, 
and  so  different  in  every  way  that,  while  the  two  had 
always  been  on  good  terms,  they  were  never  very  com 
panionable.  Tom  was  engaged  with  their  father  in  a 
drug  store,  and  cared  for  nothing  but  chemistry  and 
the  drug  business.  The  only  recreation  he  ever  took 
was  an  occasional  half-day's  fishing  on  the  lake. 

Frank  Horton  was  studious  and  somewhat  retired 
in  his  disposition,  but  not  at  all  a  recluse.  He  and 
Dick  were  not  lacking  in  points  of  common  interest, 
and  each  liked  the  other  for  qualities  which  he  him 
self  did  not  possess,  on  the  principle  that 

"We  like  not  best  what  most  to  self  is  twin, 
But  that  which  best  supplies  the  void  within." 

Dick,  who  kept  a  horse,  often  invited  Horton  to 
take  a  ride  with  him,  and  not  infrequently  he  called 
and  spent  an  hour  or  two  at  Horton's  rooms  in  the 
evenings. 

One  afternoon  Dick  called  at  the  Gazette  office 
and  found  his  friend  alone.  After  salutations  Hor 
ton  said:  "I  have  to  be  out  a  little  while.  Do  you 
want  to  keep  shop  for  me?  Or  have  you  something 
else  to  do?" 


DICK   BEIGGS  143 

"Just  as  soon  as  not,"  replied  Dick;  "I'm  not 
busy." 

"All  right,  then,"  said  Horton.  "I'll  be  back  in 
side  of  half  an  hour." 

For  awhile  Dick  looked  over  the  exchanges  in  the 
office;  then  it  occurred  to  him  to  write  a  letter  while 
he  waited.  Seating  himself  on  a  round-topped  stool 
at  the  desk  he  was  engaged  in  his  writing  when  a  man 
entered., and, with  more  force  than  seemed  to  be  neces 
sary,  inquired: 

"Where's  the  man  that  runs  this  paper?" 

Before  answering,  Dick  took  a  look  at  the  man. 
He  was  a  rough,  burly-looking  fellow,  carried  a  black- 
snake  whip  in  one  hand  and  looked  belligerent  all 
over. 

"I'm  running  it  just  now,"  said  Dick. 

"You  ain't  the  editor,  be  you?"  said  the  man,  ad 
vancing  threateningly. 

"Well,  you  may  just  take  it  for  granted  that  I  am 
if  you  have  any  business  with  him,"  answered  Dick. 

"Durned  if  I  don't  give  you  a  dressin'  down  just  for 
your  impudence,"  said  the  fellow,  bringing  down  the 
blacksnake  across  Dick's  shoulders  with  a  cut  that 
would  have  raised  a  welt  on  a  mule.  A  lighted  match 
put  to  powder  would  not  have  brought  action  more 
promptly.  With  an  oath  Dick  sprang  at  the  fellow, 
striking  him  squarely  in  the  mouth  and  knocking 
him  back  against  the  wall.  The  man,  though  badly 


144  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

staggered,  did  not  fall;  and  with  bleeding  mouth,  sur 
prised  and  enraged  at  being  attacked  by  such  a  strip 
ling,  he  made  a  rush  for  Dick,  roaring  out  threats  of 
vengeance.  Dick,  though  much  smaller  than  his  an 
tagonist,  was  much  more  active,  and  from  long  prac 
tice  had  acquired  a  more  or  less  deft  use  of  his  hands 
in  such  emergencies.  For  a  short  time  he  was  able 
to  avoid  the  clutches  of  his  burly  adversary  and  to 
place  several  blows  in  his  face  and  neck.  Seeing  thai 
he  could  not  avoid  being  caught,  Dick  made  a  rush 
at  his  opponent  and  grasped  him  about  the  body,  at 
the  same  time  tripping  him  and  throwing  him  back 
ward.  In  the  fall  the  man's  head  struck  the  corner 
of  a  desk,  cutting  a  gash  in  the  back  of  the  head  and 
for  a  moment  stunning  him. 

As  Dick  got  to  his  feet  Horton  entered  the  office. 
"What's  all  this  about?"  he  exclaimed. 

"This  fellow  wanted  to  lick  somebody  'nd  I  let 
him  begin  on  me/'  answered  Dick,  panting. 

As  the  would-be  dresser-down  of  youthful  impu 
dence  got  to  his  feet  he  was  a  sorry  sight.  He  no 
longer  looked  belligerent,  nor  did  he  appear  to  have 
any  hostile  intentions. 

"Who  are  you  and  what  do  you  want?"  demanded 
Horton. 

"I  come  to  see  the  editor,"  replied  the  man,  as  he 
wiped  his  face,  "but — they  ain't  no  hurry  about  it." 

"Did  you  come  here  for  a  fuss?"  asked  Horton. 


DICK    BRIGGS  145 

"Well,  something  of  that  kind,"  replied  the  mail; 
"but  I  didn't  s'pose  you  kept  any  young  cattymounts 
like  that  'round  the  place,"  looking  ruefully  at  Dick. 

"What  is  your  name,  and  what's  your  grievance?" 
asked  Horton. 

"I  don't  live  here,  and  it  ain't  no  difference  about 
it  to-day,"  answered  the  man,  starting  out  of  the 
office  and  leaving  his  whip  lying  on  the  floor. 

"It's  a  good  thing  for  you  that  the  editor  wasn't 
in;  I'm  only  his  boy,"  was  Dick's  parting  shot  as  the 
man  went  out  of  the  door. 

"I  suspect  that's  a  teamster  named  Botts  from 
Smithfield,  ten  miles  below  here,"  said  Horton.  "The 
correspondent  there  gave  him  a  roast  in  last  week's 
paper  for  abusing  his  family.  I  was  told  he  threat 
ened  to  come  and  clean  out  the  office,  but  I  didn't 
think  of  it  again." 

"Well,"  said  Dick,  "I'll  just  hang  this  whip  up  as 
a  souvenir.  He'll  not  come  back  for  it — not  til\  the 
bones  of  his  nose  grow  together,  anyhow." 

"Did  you  break  his  nose?"  asked  Horton. 

"I'm  pretty  sure  I  felt  the  bridge  go  down  when  I 
hit  him  the  last  time,"  replied  Dick.  Then  after  a 
pause  he  added:  "There  won't  be  any  police-court 
racket  about  this  mix-up.  That's  one  satisfaction." 


CHAPTER 

FBANK    HORTON. 

Is  man  the  creature  of  circumstances,  or  are  cir 
cumstances  the  creations  of  man?  Fatalists  are  able 
to  adduce  many  facts  in  support  of  the  theory  that  the 
fate  of  every  human  being  is  mapped  out  for  him,  and 
that  he  is  little  more  than  a  conscious  automaton  ful 
filling  a  destiny  which  he  can  neither  alter  nor  escape. 
In  the  life  of  every  man  occur  incidents,  often  slight 
in  themselves,  which  seem  to  have  a  controlling  in 
fluence  on  his  future.  Nothing,  it  is  argued,  stands 
alone  or  is  dissociated  from  everything  else.  Every 
fact  is  related  to  every  other  fact.  The  incidents  great 
and  small  that  occur  are  simply  like  a  row  of  bricks 
set  on  end  so  that  in  falling  each  brick  will  strike  and 
knock  over  the  one  next  to  it.  All  that  is  necessary 
in  order  to  move  the  whole  row  is  to  push  the  first 
brick  over. 

On  the  other  hand  are  those  who  regard  this  as 
a  merely  superficial  view;  who  insist  that,  while  cir 
cumstances  seem  to  control  man's  life,  it  is  within  the 
power  of  every  person  to  change  the  circumstances; 


FRANK    HORTON  147 

or,  using  the  same  figure  as  before,  to  remove  or  alter 
the  position  of  a  brick  at  a  point  along  the  line,  and 
thus  at  once  to  stop  the  effect  of  causing  the  first  brick 
to  fall. 

Frank  Horton  had  never  fully  decided  the  question 
for  himself,  if  indeed  he  had  ever  seriously  considered 
it.  The  circumstances  of  his  life  thus  far  would  seem 
to  furnish  about  an  equal  amount  of  argument  for 
either  side.  His  father  was  a  farmer  in  moderate  cir 
cumstances.  He  was  an  only  child,  and  his  mother 
had  died  when  he  was  seven  years  old.  His  father's 
sister,  Amelia,  a  maiden  lady  of  middle  age,  took 
charge  of  affairs  in  the  Horton  household  after  Mrs. 
Horton's  death,  and  for  the  next  few  years  Frank  was 
under  her  immediate  care  and  supervision.  To  her  he 
was  obedient,  but  not  affectionate.  He  could  never 
be  got  to  talk  of  his  mother.  To  him  the  memory  of 
his  mother  was  sacred,  and  not  to  be  shared  with  oth 
ers.  His  aunt,  seeing  how  he  felt  toward  his  mother, 
would  on  occasions  say  to  him  that  his  mother  would 
want  him  to  do  something  or  to  act  in  a  certain  way. 
When  the  boy  was  nine  years  old,  in  answer  to  one  of 
these  statements,  he  said:  "I  know  better  than  you 
or  any  one  else  what  my  mother  would  want  me  to 
do  and  not  to  do."  And  he  was  right.  He  did  know. 
It  was  a  subject  of  daily  and  hourly  thought  with  him. 
He  had  never  heard  of  spiritualism.  He  knew  nothing 
about  the  theory  of  the  spirits  of  the  departed  hover- 


148  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

ing  near  those  they  loved  in  this  life;  but  he  felt  that 
his  mother  was  with  him  when  he  was  most  alone,  and 
that  he  knew  her  thoughts. 

He  was  not  a  lazy  boy;  but  neither  his  father  nor 
his  Aunt  Amelia  was  pleased  at  the  way  he  did  the 
work  assigned  to  him.  He  appeared  somewhat  list 
less  at  his  tasks.  As  his  aunt  remarked,  he  didn't 
"seem  to  take  a-holt  right."  There  was  one  kind  of 
work  to  which  this  statement  did  not  apply.  That 
was  the  care  of  live-stock.  He  could  always  be  de 
pended  upon  to  care  for  any  animals  committed  to  his 
charge. 

In  the  winters  he  attended  the  country  school, 
where  he  made  fair  progress  in  his  studies.  He  was 
fond  of  reading,  and  had  become  familiar  with  the 
few  bo'oks  to  which  he  had  access.  At  sixteen  he  was 
a  well-grown  and  fairly  healthy  boy  of  his  age.  For 
some  time  he  had  been  intending  some  day  to  become 
a  printer,  but  had  not  mentioned  his  intentions  to  any 
one  until  one  day  his  father  intimated  to  him  an  in 
tention  of  taking  a  second  wife.  The  boy  had  feared 
this  of  late.  To  him  there  was  something  sacrilegious 
in  the  thought  of  some  other  woman  being  installed 
in  his  mother's  place.  He  felt  that  if  a  step-mother 
must  come  he  could  not  live  under  the  same  roof  with 
her.  He  did  not  want  even  to  meet  her.  Not  then, 
at  all  events.  Some  time  he  might  feel  differently 
about  it.  Something  of  this  feeling  he  told  his  father. 


PRANK    HORTON  149 

Not  all,  for  he  and  his  father  had  never  been  confi 
dants,  and  he  had  no  wish  to  wound  his  father's  feel 
ings  or  his  pride.  Still  he  insisted  that  he  must  go 
and  learn  the  printer's  trade,  promising  if  allowed  to 
go  not  to  be  a  burden  to  his  father.  After  some  hesi 
tation  his  father  consented,  and  a  few  days  later  Frank 
began  his  new  life  in  the  office  of  a  weekly  news 
paper  published  at  the  county  seat  of  an  adjoining 
county. 

He  had  not  mistaken  his  vocation.  The  work  inter 
ested  him  and  he  was  diligent  and  painstaking  as  a 
learner.  By  the  time  he  was  twenty-one  years  old 
he  had  become  a  thorough,  all-around  journeyman 
printer.  In  the  time  intervening  since  he  had  left 
home,  he  had  seen  his  father  two  or  three  times  a  year. 
Sometimes  his  father  visited  him  where  he  was  at 
work;  at  other  times  he  and  his  father  met  at  their, 
old  home  town;  but  Frank  had  never  gone  to  his 
home. 

He  now  decided  to  start  out  and  secure  work  in 
some  other  place,  partly  to  see  something  of  the  world 
and  partly  to  get  the  advantage  of  working  at  his 
trade  in  different  offices.  He  had  saved  a  little  money 
and  his  employer  furnished  him  with  a  strong  letter 
of  recommendation.  Before  going  away  he  went  to 
the  town  nearest  his  birth-place  and  there  met  and 
talked  with  his  father.  This  proved  to  be  the  last 
time  the  two  met.  A  few  weeks  later  the  father  died, 


150  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

and  was  buried  before  news  of  his  death  reached  his 
son. 

During  the  next  few  years  Frank  drifted  from  place 
to  place,  working  at  his  trade.  He  never  changed 
much.  There  was  about  him  an  amount  of  self-poise 
rather  unusual  in  a  young  man.  Perhaps  the  key  to 
an  understanding  of  his  character  lies  in  the  fact  that 
his  mother  was  always  with  him.  He  had  felt  her 
presence  and  her  influence  so  constantly  that  the 
memory  of  her  soft  hands,  her  loving  eyes  and  tender 
voice  was  as  fresh  as  ever  with  him.  He  was  not 
given  to  seeking  crowds  or  indulging  to  any  extent 
in  the  amusements  of  his  associates.  Occasionally  he 
would  go  with  them  for  the  sake  of  comradeship,  and 
sometimes  take  a  drink  or  smoke  a  cigar;  but  he  pre 
ferred  the  quiet  of  his  room  with  one  chum  when  not 
at  work.  He  was  rather  too  solitary.  He  had  been 
too  much  alone  as  a  boy.  Solitude  has  some  advan 
tages  to  a  young  person;  but  one  who  has  lived  much 
alone  is  likely  to  be  more  of  a  thinker  or  a  dreamer 
than  a  pushing  man  of  the  world. 

When  Frank  Horton  had  been  working  three  or 
four  years  at  his  trade  he  began  to  write  short  articles 
which  he  handed  to  the  editor  of  the  paper  on  which 
he  happened  to  be  employed.  After  keeping  up  this 
kind  of  experimental  writing  for  some  time  he  was 
offered  and  accepted  a  subordinate  place  on  the  edito 
rial  staff  of  a  city  daily.  Though  he  held  this  posi- 


FEANK    HOKTON  151 

tion  for  more  than  a  year  the  work  did  not  suit  him. 
He  felt  cramped.  Everything  he  wrote  had  to  fit  the 
policy  of  the  paper.  There  was  no  chance  for  origi 
nality  or  independence  in  the  treatment  of  subjects. 
He  had  about  determined  to  go  back  to  the  mechan 
ical  department  of  the  printing  business  when  an  op 
portunity  occurred  for  him  to  acquire  the  control  and 
become  the  editor  of  the  Weekly  Gazette  at  the  city 

of  E ,  in  northern  Ohio.    He  accepted  the  offer, 

and  at  the  time  of  meeting  with  Dick  Briggs  he  had 
been  an  independent  editor  for  two  years. 

Under  his  editorial  management  the  Gazette  had 
acquired  the  reputation  of  a  paper  which  always  re 
flected  the  real  sentiments  of  its  editor  on  all  sub 
jects  on  which  it  spoke.  Attempts  were  made  from 
time  to  time  to  have  Horton  lend  the  support  of  the 
paper  to  this  or  that  project,  or  to  treat  of  some  mat 
ter  of  public  interest  in  a  particular  way.  All  such 
attempts  failed.  The  editor  did  not  appear  to  be  try 
ing  to  get  rich,  though  the  paper  was  fairly  profitable. 
Once  when  some  heavy  advertisers  wanted  the  paper 
to  follow  a  certain  line  of  policy,  Horton  told  them 
the  editorial  page  had  no  connection  with  the  adver 
tising  columns.  The  paper  aimed  always  to  be  fair, 
and  generally  its  tone  was  kindly.  It  rarely  went  be 
yond  gentle  irony  or  good-natured  raillery  in  oppos 
ing  men  or  measures.  But  once  in  a  while  when  Hor 
ton  got  an  idea  that  weakness  was  being  oppressed  by 


THE     LARGER     FAITH 

strength,  that  helplessness  was  being  imposed  upon 
by  power,  he  would  blaze  out  with  a  wealth  of  invect 
ive  which  was  like  an  electric  shock  to  his  readers.  It 
was  the  Gazette's  known  readiness  to  champion  the 
cause  of  the  weak  and  denounce  oppression  in  any 
form  that  led  to  the  incident  of  Dick  Briggs  with  the 
man  who  carried  a  wagon  whip. 

Horton  was  not  a  society  man.  He  knew  many 
men  in  a  business  way,  but  had  few  intimates,  and 
rarely  visited  the  homes  of  his  acquaintances.  At 
Dick's  urgent  invitation  he  had  once  spent  an  evening 
at  the  Briggs  household. 

A  few  weeks  after  Dick's  encounter  at  the  Gazette 
office  occurred  an  event  which  seemed  to  draw  in  its 
train  circumstances  important  in  the  lives  of  several 
people. 

One  morning  in  the  latter  part  of  April,  Horton 
drove  a  few  miles  into  the  country  with  a  single  horse 
and  top-buggy  from  a  livery  stable.  The  day  being 
pleasant  he  had  laid  back  the  buggy  top  and  was  fully 
enjoying  his  drive  homeward  when,  in  descending  a 
hill  about  a  mile  from  town,  the  holdback  gave  way. 
Horton  had  been  driving  carelessly,  and  before  he 
could  gather  up  the  lines  the  horse  was  entirely  be 
yond  his  control.  Once  or  twice  Horton  tried  pulling 
on  the  lines,  but  found  this  only  drew  the  buggy 
against  the  horse  and  added  to  the  fright  of  the  al 
ready  frantic  animal.  He  dared  not  try  to  pull  the 


FRANK    HORTOISr  153 

horse  into  a  fence  for  fear  of  upsetting  in  a  ditch  at 
the  side  of  the  road.  The  best  he  could  do  was  to  try 
to  keep  the  animal  in  the  road  and  let  him  run.  The 
horse  dashed  into  the  town  with  somewhat  slackened 
speed,  but  still  wholly  unmanageable.  'Several  men 
rushed  into  the  street  and  almost  caused  an  upset  by 
waving  their  arms  and  causing  the  horse  to  swerve. 
They  got  out  of  the  way,  however,  before  the  horse 
reached  them.  But  there  was  one  who  acted  differ 
ently.  It  was  Dick  Briggs.  He  saw  the  runaway  com 
ing,  caught  sight  of  the  occupant  of  the  buggy,  and 
forgot  everything  else  in  the  desire  to  save  his  friend. 
With  a  rush  he  grabbed  the  reins  at  the  horse's  head. 
He  was  jerked  from  his  feet  in  a  moment,  but  he  held 
on.  The  horse  dashed  into  a  board  fence,  the  buggy 
caught  against  a  post,  the  horse  was  thrown  by  the 
shock  and  Horton  was  pitched  forward  some  twenty 
feet  out  on  the  ground,  but  suffered  no  other  injury 
than  a  few  bruises  and  a  severe  shaking  up.  But  Dick 
did  not  escape  so  well.  Men  rushed  to  the  spot  and 
found  him  lying  at  the  head  of  the  fallen  horse,  still 
grasping  the  reins;  but  he  was  bleeding  at  mouth  and 
nose  and  unable  to  rise.  When  helped  up  one  of  his 
legs  hung  limp.  "Did  you  get  hurt,  old  man?"  he  in 
quired  of  Horton;  then,  without  waiting  for  an  an 
swer,  he  fainted.  He  was  at  once  conveyed  to  his 
home  and  a  physician  summoned,  who  found  that 
Dick  had  suffered  a  broken  leg,  three  broken  ribs,  and 


154  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

internal  injuries,  the  extent  of  which  could  not  then 
be  determined.  Horton  had  followed  him  home  and 
remained  throughout  the  examination  and  until  the 
physician  had  finished  his  work,  and  left,  promising 
to  call  again  an  hour  or  two  later. 

Horton  followed  the  physician  into  the  hall  and  in 
quired  as  to  Dick's  condition. 

"We  can't  tell  for  a  day  or  two,"  answered  the  doc 
tor.  "If  his  internal  injuries  are  not  too  serious,  he'll 
get  over  the  broken  bones  and  bruises  all  right." 

Dick  had  asserted,  but  somewhat  weakly,  that  he 
wasn't  hurt  much  and  would  soon  be  around  all  right. 
The  doctor  left  directions  to  have  him  kept  as  quiet 
as  possible.  During  the  next  two  days  Horton  re 
mained  almost  constantly  at  Dick's  bedside.  On  the 
third  day  Dr.  Roberts  pronounced  Dick  out  of  dan 
ger,  and  for  the  first  time  after  the  accident  Horton 
went  home  and  to  bed.  Thereafter  while  Dick  was 
convalescing  Horton  spent  a  part  of  almost  every  day 
with  him.  Dick  was  fond  of  hearing  Horton  read 
aloud,  and  his  wishes  were  fully  gratified.  His  sound 
constitution  and  naturally  buoyant  disposition  aided 
greatly  in  his  speedy  recovery.  From  the  first  he  had 
refused  to  listen  to  any  thanks  from  Horton  for  his 
act,  and  seemed  to  feel  annoyed  when  the  subject  was 
referred  to. 

About  three  weeks  after  the  accident  Dick  was  sit 
ting  propped  up  in  bed  one  afternoon  and  Horton  was 


FBANK    HORTON  155 

reading  to  him,  when  a  young  womam  of  about  Dick's 
age  entered  the  room  and  going  to  the  bed  exclaimed, 
"You  poor  old  Dick!  Were  you  going  to  commit  sui 
cide?"  and  kissed  him. 

"Why,  Corinne,  I'm  glad  to  see  you!"  said  Dick; 
then  he  added:  "This  is  Mr.  Horton,  Corinne — my 
cousin,  Miss  Roberts." 

The  girl  blushed,  then  frankly  extended  her  hand, 
saying:  "I  understand  you  have  been  quite  a  faith 
ful  nurse  to  Dick,  Mr.  Horton." 

"I  was  the  unfortunate  cause  of  his  getting  hurt," 
said  Horton,  as  they  shook  hands. 

"No,  drop  that,  Horton!"  said  Dick.  "I  was  going 
to  stop  that  horse,  and  I'd  have  stopped  him  if  the 
buggy'd  been  empty!" 

When  Miss  Roberts  had  gone,  after  promising  to 
come  and  stay  part  of  the  following  day  with  Dick, 
Horton  learned  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  the  at 
tending  physician,  Dr.  Roberts,  and  had  been  away 
at  school,  having  returned  that  day  for  the  first  time 
since  Dick's  injury.  Horton  met  her  several  times 
after  that  at  Dick's  house;  and  once  when  they  were 
both  there  in  the  evening  he  walked  home  with  her, 
and  before  leaving  her  at  the  gate  he  asked  and  was 
given  permission  to  call  at  some  later  date. 

In  the  course  of  time  Dick  fully  recovered  from  his 
injuries  and  was  as  well  as  ever,  though  slightly  so 
bered  by  his  experience.  Horton  felt  that  he  ov/ed  his 


156  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

life  to  Dick,  and  the  two  were  the  warmest  friends. 
Dick  one  day  confided  to  Horton  that  he  expected 
before  long  to  get  married  and  settle  down.  Horton 
congratulated  his  friend  and  expressed  approval  of 
his  intentions. 

"It's  too  soon  for  congratulations,"  said  Dick.  "I'll 
tell  you  more  about  it  before  long." 

A  week  or  two  later  Dick  called  at  Horton's  room 
between  ten  and  eleven  o'clock  one  night. 

"Horton,  I'm  going  away  and  called  to  say  good- 
by,"  he  said.  He  was  disordered  and  distressed  in 
appearance.  Horton  had  never  seen  him  in  this  mood 
before. 

"Why,  Dick,  what's  the  matter?"  exclaimed  Hor 
ton. 

"I've  been  refused,  and  I'm  going  away  to-night," 
answered  Dick. 

"But  you  don't  want  to  take  it  that  way,  old  man," 
said  Horton.  "You'll  look  at  it  differently  later." 

"How  would  you  take  it  yourself  if  you  were  in  my 
place?"  asked  Dick,  impetuously. 

Horton  paled  slightly  as  he  answered,  in  a  low 
voice:  "I  don't  know,  Dick,  how  I  would  take  it. 
Still,  I  think  it's  better  for  you  not  to  go  this  way." 

Arguments  were  useless,  however.  Dick  left  that 
night  for  the  far  west,  and  after  the  first  month  or 
two  neither  Horton  nor  his  family  could  get  any  word 
from  him. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

MAKING    PROGRESS. 

On  the  same  day  on  which  Darrell  met  Mr.  Winter 
on  the  street  he  wrote  to  Young,  briefly  stating  the 
circumstances  and  his  anxiety  for  the  welfare  of  his 
friend  Winter,  and  asking  whether  Young  would  re 
ceive  him  for  a  few  months.  He  received  a  prompt 
reply  from  Young  saying  with  reference  to  the  in 
quiry:  "Mr.  Winter  will  be  welcome  to  come  here 
and  try  our  way  of  living.  If  there  is  any  dissatisfac 
tion  on  either  side  he  can  at  least  stay  until  he  is  able 
to  make  other  arrangements.  Tell  him  to  bring  only 
coarse,  old  clothes  and  heavy  underwear.  Let  him 
wire  me  a  day  or  two  ahead  stating  the  time  of  his  ar 
rival  at  Tres  Piedras." 

A  day  or  two  after  Darrell's  receipt  of  this  letter 
Mr.  Winter,  having  completed  his  preparations, 
started  for  New  Mexico.  The  state  of  his  health  was 
causing  not  only  his  friends,  but  himself  as  well,  much 
anxiety.  Though  he  did  not  say  so,  and  tried  to  con 
ceal  his  feelings  on  the  subject  from  his  family  and 
friends,  he  felt  as  he  bade  them  farewell  that  it  was 


158  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

probably  their  final  separation  in  this  life.  His  fam 
ily  and  friends  had  the  same  feeling,  which  they  also 
tried  to  conceal. 

At  the  end  of  a  three  days'  trip  he  stepped  from  the 
train  to  the  platform  at  the  station  of  Tres  Piedras, 
feeling  a  little  jaded  but  otherwise  none  the  worse  for 
the  trip.  In  fact,  for  the  last  day  he  had  begun  to 
feel  the  effect  of  the  bracing  air  of  the  arid  region. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Winter?"  said  Ned  Long,  approach 
ing  him  as  the  train  pulled  out. 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  minister. 

"Mr.  Young  sent  me  to  take  you  out  to  the  ranch," 
said  Ned.  "If  you'll  show  me  your  luggage  I'll  put  it 
in  the  cart." 

"I  have  no  luggage  but  this  gripsack,"  replied  Mr. 
Winter. 

They  were  soon  on  the  way  to  the  ranch  in  a  cart 
drawn  by  Ned's  horse,  Whitefoot.  Mr.  Winter  had 
never  before  been  west  of  the  Mississippi  river,  and  as 
he  now  filled  his  lungs  with  the  fresh  air  and  looked 
around  at  the  novel  scenery  he  felt  more  hopeful  than 
he  had  done  in  months.  The  day  was  bright  and  clear, 
and  after  a  pleasant  three  hours'  drive  they  arrived  at 
the  ranch  at  about  one  o'clock.  Young  met  his  vis 
itor  with  quiet  courtesy,  inquiring  as  to  his  trip  and 
about  Darrell,  but  made  no  reference  to  the  minister's 
health.  After  introducing  him  to  the  bedroom  and 
showing  him  where  to  wash,  Young  put  on  the  table 


MAKING    PROGRESS  159 

the  dinner  which  was  already  prepared,  and  they  all 
sat  down  to  eat. 

Noticing  a  slight  hesitation  on  the  part  of  his  vis 
itor,  Young  said:  "Do  you  wish  to  ask  a  blessing,  Mr. 
Winter?" 

The  minister  bowed  his  head  and  proceeded  to  say 
grace.  Young's  manner  at  table,  as  elsewhere,  was 
polite  but  not  effusive,  and  gave  the  impression  that 
he  wanted  his  visitor  to  be  comfortable.  There  was 
no  apology  offered  for  anything,  and  no  urging  to  eat 
more.  After  dinner  he  conducted  Mr.  Winter  into 
the  sitting  room.  Taking  a  hasty  look  at  the  shelves 
of  books  and  then  at  the  table  covered  with  news 
papers  and  magazines,  Mr.  Winter  said,  with  a  smile: 
"I  see  our  friend  Barrel!  wanted  to  surprise  me.  He 
said  nothing  to  me  of  this,  and  almost  nothing  of 
you." 

"You  have  seen  the  extent  of  the  house  now,"  re 
plied  Young.  "While  you  remain,  be  at  home." 

Mr.  Winter  fell  readily  into  his  changed  mode  of 
life.  Young  went  about  his  work  just  as  before;  but 
when  the  minister  offered  to  help  in  the  household 
duties  his  offer  was  accepted  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
course  that  he  should  work.  The  reverend  gentle 
man's  former  parishioners  would  have  been  somewhat 
astonished  had  they  beheld  him,  within  a  few  days  of 
his  arrival  at  the  ranch,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  wearing 
old  clothes  and  slouch  hat,  engaged  in  washing  dishes 


160  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

or  rinsing  out,  wringing  and  hanging  up  a  washing. 
From  the  time  of  his  arrival  his  health  improved  rap 
idly.  Both  the  natural  atmosphere  and  the  social 
atmosphere  about  the  place  seemed  to  agree  with  him 
perfectly.  He  liked  Young,  and  still  was  puzzled  at 
first  in  trying  to  make  an  estimate  of  him  and  to  un 
derstand  his  character.  In  looking  over  the  library  he 
noticed  that  among  the  books  showing  most  usage 
were  a  bible  and  a  bible  concordance;  but  beside 
these,  and  also  showing  evidence  of  having  been  read 
much,  were  other  books  which  seemed  to  him  to  be  of 
an  opposite  character,  such  as  Kenan's  Life  of  Jesus, 
and  works  of  other  authors  whom  he  had  always  re 
garded  as  dangerous  infidels.  He  resolved  to  try  to 
draw  his  host  out  and  learn,  if  he  could,  the  state  of 
mind  of  a  man  who  took  an  interest  in  works  of  such 
a  diverse  character.  In  all  their  conversations  of  any 
length  during  the  first  two  weeks  of  Mr.  Winter's  stay 
at  the  ranch,  Young,  while  in  all  other  respects  treat 
ing  him  as  a  member  of  the  family,  had  so  far  re 
garded  him  as  a  guest  as  to  allow  him  to  choose  the 
subjects  and  take  the  leading  part  in  their  talks.  The 
minister  had  told  Young  of  his  family  and  more  than 
once  in  the  course  of  his  talk  had  referred  to  his  son 
John.  One  day  Young  remarked  to  him:  "I  judge 
from  what  you  have  said  that  John  is  quite  a  satis- 
factorv  son?" 


MAKING    PROGRESS  161 

"Yes,"  replied  the  minister,  "John  is  a  good  boy. 
He  has  never  given  us  any  worry  or  trouble." 

"Is  he  disposed  to  be  grateful  for  what  you  do  for 
him?"  asked  Young. 

"Yes,  very  much  so,"  answered  the  minister. 

"Does  he  tell  you  so,  daily?"  inquired  Young. 

"Why,  no,  not  daily,"  said  the  minister,  looking 
inquiringly  at  Young.  "Of  course  I  don't  expect 
that.  He  shows  by  his  actions  that  he  appreciates 
what  is  done  for  him." 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Winter,"  said  Young,  smiling 
at  the  minister,  "that  I  believe  my  Father  feels  just 
as  you  do  about  that?  I  am  thankful  every  moment 
for  my  physical  health  and  welfare,  for  all  the  mental 
and  spiritual  good  that  is  mine,  for  all  the  joys  of 
life — and  life  to  me  is  full  of  joy;  but  my  Father 
knows  this;  my  actions  show  it,  and  I  have  too  much 
respect  for  his  intelligence  to  suppose  that  he  wishes 
me  to  express  my  thankfulness  daily  or  at  every  meal 
time  in  a  set  form  of  words,  or  even  that  it  would 
please  him  to  have  me  do  so." 

"Do  you  not  believe  in  prayer  at  all?"  asked  the 
minister. 

"Yes,  in  prayers  of  thankfulness,"  answered  Young. 
"And  every  aspiration,  every  right  thought,  every 
attempt  or  desire  to  know  God,  is  a  prayer." 

"Still,  don't  you  think  it  well  that  we  should  form 
ulate  and  express  our  thanks?"  said  the  minister. 


162  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

"Only  by  our  actions/'  replied  Young.  "Any  other 
method  seems  to  me  a  reflection  on  the  divine  intelli 
gence." 

"I  cannot  assent  to  that  view,"  said  Mr.  Winter, 
mildly;  and  conversation  on  the  topic  was  dropped 
for  that  time. 

One  evening  in  the  sitting  room  as  they  were  talk 
ing  Mr.  Winter  used  the  term,  "the  Man  of  Sorrows." 

"Why  do  you  speak  of  Jesus  Christ  as  the  'Man  of 
Sorrows'?"  asked  Young. 

"It  is  a  very  common  designation,"  replied  the  min 
ister;  "and  it  accords  with  the  facts,  does  it  not?  I 
"believe  the  phrase  is  from  Isaiah — '&  Man  of  Sorrows, 
and  acquainted  with  grief.' " 

"It  is  a  common  designation  and  is  found  in 
Isaiah,"  said  Young;  "but  it  seems  to  me  a  mere  cant 
phrase,  all  the  same;  and  in  my  opinion  it  expresses 
the  very  opposite  of  the  truth  as  to  Jesus  Christ." 

"How  is  that?"  said  the  minister.  "Do  you  not 
look  on  him  as  a  Man  of  Sorrows?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Young.  "I  am  satisfied  that 
J2sus  Christ  was  one  of  the  most  cheerful  as  he  cer 
tainly  was  one  of  the  happiest  men  of  whom  we  have 
any  knowledge." 

"Does  that  view  accord  with  the  scriptural  account 
of  his  life?"  questioned  the  minister. 

"I  think  it  does,"  answered  Young.  "It  is  the 
scriptural  account  on  which  I  base  my  views.  He  ob- 


MAKING    PBOGRESS  163 

tained  complete  mastery  over  what  we  call  gelf;  in 
other  words,  in  him  the  spiritual  completely  con 
trolled  the  physical.  He  was  able  to  assert  from  per 
sonal  experience  that  'the  flesh  profiteth  nothing.' 
He  saw  and  understood,  perhaps  more  clearly  than 
any  other,  the  true  relationship  of  man  to  all  life,  to 
nature,  to  God.  Now,  to  one  who  has  attained  that 
degree  of  spirituality,  unhappiness  is  an  impossibility. 
He  has  attained  heaven,  and  lives  constantly  in 
heaven.  He  may  feel  for  others,  sympathize  with 
others;  but  there  could  be  nothing  despondent  or  de 
pressing  or  mournful  in  that  sympathy.  What  we  call 
the  misfortunes  of  life  could  have  no  depressing  ef 
fect  on  such  a  person.  The  loss  of  property,  the  death 
of  friends,  even  his  own  death,  could  in  no  wise  cast 
him  down.  The  spiritual  height  attained  by  Jesus 
Christ,  his  entire  self-abnegation,  his  utter  unselfish 
ness,  must  of  necessity  have  made  his  life  a  happy 
one.  It  could  not  be  otherwise.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
was  a  cheerful  man.  I  doubt  not  that  he  was  a  pleas 
ant  companion  with  whom  to  go  fishing  and  with 
whom  to  live  day  by  day;  for  the  presence  and  in 
fluence  of  such  a  character,  such  a  spirit  as  his,  must 
have  been  an  inspiration,  a  benediction  and  a  joy  to 
all  those  around  him.  I  think,  by  the  way,  that  paint 
ers  who  have  undertaken  to  depict  the  features  of 
Jesus  Christ  all  have  had  a  misconception  of  the  man 
— at  all  events,  I  have  never  seen  a  picture  of  him 


164  THE     LARGEB     FAITH 

that  represented  him  otherwise  than  mournful  and 
sad." 

"I  perfectly  agree  with  you,"  said  the  minister, 
"that  spiritually  Christ  was  above  and  superior  to  all 
the  ills  of  this  world." 

"That  implies  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  happi 
ness,"  replied  Young,  "which  I  regard  as  one  of  the 
radical  errors  of  mankind — an  error,  if  you'll  pardon 
my  saying  it,  that  I  think  the  preachers  have  done 
much  to  create.  I  believe  all  happiness  is  spiritual, 
and  that  when  one  has  become  spiritually  superior  to 
the  ills  of  life  he  is  perforce  happy." 

"Do  you  recognize  no  distinction,  then,  between 
spiritual  and  secular  welfare?"  asked  the  minister. 

"No,  I  think  there  is  no  difference,"  said  Young. 
"Spiritual  welfare  of  necessity  includes  secular  wel 
fare  and  happiness." 

"As  to  Christ  being  a  happy  man,"  said  the  min 
ister,  "you  will  admit  that  he  underwent  great  suffer 
ing  in  his  life,  and  especially  in  his  death  on  the 
cross?" 

"No,  I  cannot  admit  even  that,"  said  Young;  "I  do 
not  believe  Jesus  Christ  suffered  on  the  cross.  I  be 
lieve  he  had  acquired  such  complete  mastery  over 
himself — that  in  him  the  spirit  so  entirely  controlled 
the  body — that  the  mutilation  of  his  body  did  not 
necessarily  cause  him  suffering." 

"It  seems  to  me  your  conception  of  Christ  is  not 


MAKING    PROGKESS  165 

that  generally  entertained  by  Christians,  or,  so  far  as 
I  know,  by  skeptics/'  said  the  minister.  "Still,  your 
views  involve  a  recognition  of  the  divinity  of  Christ." 

"Assuredly  so,"  replied  Young.  "I  believe  every 
human  being  is  of  divine  origin." 

"But,"  said  the  minister,  disturbed  at  this  state 
ment,  "if  you  do  away  with  the  miraculous  concep 
tion  of  Christ,  what  is  left  of  the  Christian  religion?" 

"Everything  is  left  of  it  that  is  at  all  helpful  or  of 
any  value  to  mankind,"  replied  Young.  "Everything 
is  left  of  it  that  was  taught  by  Jesus  Christ  himself. 
The  Christian  religion  in  no  wise  depends  upon  a  be 
lief  in  the  miraculous  conception  of  its  Founder.  The 
true  Christian  religion  is  the  universal,  eternal  reli 
gion,  toward  a  recognition  of  which  all  mankind  are 
tending.  In  its  essence  it  is  the  religion  of  all  time 
and  of  all  mankind.  The  conception  which  I  have  of 
its  great  Founder  and  of  his  relation  to  the  human 
race  does  not  degrade  him,  but  elevates  humanity." 

"But  is  it  not  degrading  Christ  to  hold  that  each 
of  us  is  or  can  be  equal  to  him?"  asked  the  minister. 

"It  is  Jesus  Christ's  own  teaching,"  answered 
Young.  "When  he  said,  'Be  ye  therefore  perfect  even 
as  your  father  which  is  in  heaven  is  perfect,'  was  he 
giving  a  command  or  an  injunction  incapable  of  being 
followed?  When  he  said,  'He  that  believeth  on  me, 
the  works  that  I  do  shall  he  do  also;  and  greater 
works  than  these  shall  he  do,'  was  he  insincere? 


166  THE     LARGEB     FAITH 

When  he  said,  'Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart/  are  we 
to  suppose  he  was  speaking  of  a  condition  impossible 
to  attain?  It  seems  clear  to  me  that  the  effect  of  the 
teachings  of  Jesus  Christ  is  that  men  not  only  can  be, 
but  ought  to  be,  in  every  way  his  equals." 

The  minister  sat  silent  and  thoughtful  for  some 
time;  then,  rising,  he  said,  with  apparent  irrelevancy: 
"I'm  glad  I  came  out  here.  I  feel  that  I  am  making 
progress.  Good  night." 


CHAPTER    XV. 

COEINNE   ROBERTS. 

All  his  life  it  had  been  the  disposition  of  Frank 
Horton  to  conceal  his  deeper  emotions.  The  only  un 
reserved  confidante  he  had  ever  had  was  his  mother. 
After  her  death,  partly  owing  to  his  nature  and  partly 
to  the  circumstances  surrounding  him,  he  had  grown 
more  and  more  reticent  concerning  himself  and  his 
feelings.  This  disposition,  or  the  habit  growing  out 
of  it,  grew  on  him  as  he  got  older. 

Up  to  the  time  of  the  runaway  in  which  Dick 
Briggs  took  such  a  prominent  part,  he  had  never  felt 
more  than  a  passing  admiration  for  or  interest  in  any 
woman.  He  admired  women  and  was  deferential 
toward  all  the  sex;  but  he  had  never  loved  any  woman 
but  his  mother.  He  had  never  given  any  serious 
thought  to  the  subject  of  marriage.  While  he  was 
far  from  being  a  selfish  man  in  the  ordinary  accepta 
tion  of  that  term,  he  was  engrossed  in  his  work  and 
his  literary  studies  and  recreations. 

Soon  after  meeting  Corinne  Roberts  he  began  to 
be  conscious  that  a  new  sensation  was  stealing  over 


168  THE     LABQER     FAITH 

him.  There  was  something  about  her  that  was  at 
tractive  and  fascinating  to  him.  She  was  not  what 
society  calls  a  beauty;  but  she  was  full  of  that  inde 
finable  charm  of  person  and  manner  which  attracts 
both  men  and  women.  From  an  early  age  she  had 
been  a  leader  among  her  associates,  without  any  effort 
on  her  part  to  lead.  Modest  and  unassuming  in  her 
manner,  she  was  nevertheless  a  pattern  to  her  asso 
ciates.  What  Corinne  Roberts  wore  was  ipso  facto 
stylish  and  the  proper  thing  to  wear.  Any  place  she 
went  was  a  proper  place  for  girls  to  go,  and  was  so 
regarded  by  her  associates  and  their  mothers.  It 
would  be  a  very  wrong  conclusion  to  draw  from  these 
statements  that  Corinne  was  a  goody-goody  girl. 
There  was  nothing  about  her  suggestive  of  partly  de 
veloped  wings.  There  was  nothing  at  all  doll-like. 
She  was  very  human  from  head  to  foot.  In  person 
she  was  of  medium  height,  with  well-rounded  form. 
Her  sloping  shoulders  gave  her  the  appearance  of 
being  smaller  than  she  really  was.  Her  complexion, 
eyes  and  hair  were  dark.  Her  features  were  regular, 
but  not  at  all  classic.  It  was  not  so  much  to  be  won 
dered  at  that  her  associates  followed  her  in  matters 
of  dress.  She  was  one  of  the  somewhat  rare  women 
who  set  off  their  clothes  and  to  whom  their  apparel 
always  seems  becoming.  A  girl  who  lived  at  a  dis 
tance  and  who  was  visiting  a  friend  in  E once  re 
marked,  with  some  asperity:  "I  believe  if  Corinne 


COEINNE   EGBERTS  169 

Roberts  wore  a  dress  of  red  flannel  the  rest  of  you 
girls  would  all  say  that  was  just  the  proper  thing  for 
a  dress,  and  wear  it,  too." 

And  there  was  some  basis  of  truth  in  the  statement. 
There  was  that  about  her  which  inspired  good-will 
and  confidence,  not  only  among  young  persons  but 
among  her  elders  as  well.  Perhaps  some  explanation 
of  her  relation  to  her  associates  and  to  people  gener 
ally  might  have  been  found  in  a  remark  of  one  of  her 
schoolmates,  who,  when  told  that  Corinne  Roberts 
liked  a  particular  person  who  was  not  generally  popu 
lar,  replied:  "Oh,  Corinne  Roberts  likes  everybody." 
This  was  largely  true.  Corinne  did  like  people  gener 
ally.  Her  liking  extended  to  little  children  and  dogs 
and  cats  and  flowers.  She  had  been  known  to  pick  up 
a  crying  three-year-old  boy  who  had  his  mother  wor 
ried  nearly  out  of  her  wits,  give  him  a  little  shake 
and  say  to  him  with  a  smile,  "Here,  young  man, 
you're  missing  lots  of  fun!"  and  in  two  minutes  have 
the  child  wanting  to  desert  his  mother  and  go  with 
her. 

But  it  is  impossible  to  transfer  such  a  personality 
to  paper.  The  always  hopeful  disposition,  the  bright 
smile,  the  quiet,  sympathetic  manner,  the  low,  cheery 
voice — in  short,  the  person  herself  must  have  been 
met  and  seen  and  heard  to  be  understood  and  appre 
ciated. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Frank  Horton,  when 


170 

in  the  presence  of  Corinne,  began  to  feel  the  shyness 
of  a  boy.  He  had  never  experienced  this  feeling  as  a 
boy,  for  he  had  never  felt  any  other  than  a  passing 
friendliness  toward  any  of  his  girl  acquaintances.  But 
he  felt  a  degree  of  trepidation  in  approaching  Co- 
rinne.  He  trembled  when  he  asked  if  he  might  call 
on  her.  He  was  ashamed  of  himself  for  the  care  he 
gave  to  his  dress  and  personal  appearance  when  the 
evening  came  for  him  to  make  the  first  call.  Corinne 
was  frank,  open  and  friendly  in  her  demeanor,  and 
this  very  fact  annoyed  Horton.  If  she  had  shown 
some  coyness,  if  she  had  been  a  little  shy  or  blushed 
occasionally,  he  would  have  felt  bolder  and  more  in 
command  of  himself.  But  she  was  exasperatingly  sis 
ter-like  in  her  manner. 

Horton  had  met  Dr.  Roberts  a  number  of  times  at 
the  bedside  of  Dick  Briggs.  The  doctor  was  a  man 
of  few  words  in  his  profession.  His  keen  eyes,  over 
hung  by  bushy  eyebrows,  gave  one  the  impression  of 
looking  clear  through  and  seeing  what  was  on  the  in. 
side.  Mrs.  Eoberts  was  a  gentle,  motherly  woman, 
chiefly  anxious  that  everybody  around  her  should  be 
comfortable.  Both  she  and  the  doctor  shared  the  gen- 
eral  belief  that  whatever  Corinne  did  was  the  right 
thing  to  do.  In  fact,  they  both  treated  Corinne  more 
like  a  sister  than  a  daughter.  She  called  her  parents 
Father  and  Mother  and  was  always  deferential  and 


CORINNE   EGBERTS  171 

obedient — so  obedient  that  her  parents  seldom  gave 
her  a  command,  and  rather  deferred  to  her  judgment. 

The  very  openness  and  friendly  frankness  with 
which  Horton  was  received  by  this  family  irritated 
him.  He  noticed  that  when  other  people  called  they 
were  treated  just  the  same  way  by  Corinne  and  her 
parents,  and  he  felt  aggrieved  at  that.  He  determined 
to  stay  away,  and  held  to  his  determination  for  two 
whole  weeks.  Then  he  called  again  and  was  met  with 
the  same  cheerful  friendliness  as  before.  He  tried  by 
self-examination  to  account  for  his  feelings,  and 
failed.  It  was  a  long  time  before  he  acknowledged 
to  himself  that  he  was  in  love.  Then  he  tried  to  shake 
it  off.  The  disparity  in  their  ages  was  too  great.  It 
would  not  do  for  him  to  marry  a  girl  like  that.  He 
tried  to  reason  the  matter  out  in  all  possible  ways;  but 
one  evening,  when  he  had  been  with  her  for  two 
hours  and  was  about  to  leave  he  clasped  her  to  his 
breast,  kissed  her  and  said,  "I  want  you  for  my  wife!" 
and  Corinne,  unashamed,  returned  the  kiss,  and  said, 
in  a  low  voice:  "I  want  you  for  my  husband!" 

This  was  all  very  improper  and  unconventional, but 
it  was  the  way  these  two  people  became  engaged. 
Horton  was  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  happiness.  He 
felt  sure  that  the  parents  would  consent;  still  he  had  a 
courteous  interview  with  Dr.  Roberts.  As  Corinne's 
happiness  was  the  uppermost  idea  in  the  mind  of 
both,  they  had  no  trouble  in  agreeing.  Thereafter, 


172  THE     LAEGER     FAITH 

Horton  was  looked  upon  and  treated  as  a  member  of 
the  family.  He  was  simply  mad  with  joy.  The  idea 
that  he  was  to  have  for  his  wife  and  possess  as  his 
very  own  such  a  creature  as  Corinne  made  him  de-* 
lirious.  He  trod  on  air.  He  was  jealous  when  Corinne 
kissed  her  mother  on  leaving  home  with  him  when 
starting  to  the  theater.  He  felt  offended  when  her 
father  commanded  her  to  loosen  her  belt  and  gruffly 
remarked  that  he  would  have  no  tight  lacing  in  his 
family — a  command  and  a  remark  which  Corinne  an 
swered  with  a  kiss  and  a  little  pull  at  her  father's 
whiskers. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  wedding  should  be  in 
May,  just  about  a  year  after  Horton  and  Corinne  had 
first  met.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Roberts  joined  in  asking  Hoiv 
ton  to  live  with  them,  as  they  had  ample  house  room 
and  much  preferred  to  have  their  daughter  stay  with 
them.  Besides,  the  parents  both  liked  Horton^ 
Corinne  one  day  laughingly  told  him  she  was  jealous 
on  account  of  the  affection  her  mother  showed  for 
him. 

About  a  week  before  the  time  set  for  their  mar 
riage,  Horton  was  called  to  Cincinnati  on  a  business 
errand.  The  evening  before  his  departure  was  passed 
at  the  Eoberts  household,  where  he  expected  soon  to 
make  his  home.  Corinne  mentioned  that  her  cousin, 
Tom  Briggs,  had  asked  her  to  go  out  fishing  with  him 
a  day  or  two  later  on  the  lake.  As  they  separated 


CORINNE   ROBERTS  1?3 

Horton  said,  "A  week  from  to-night,  darling,  we 
will  be  living  together,"  and  Corinne  answered  sim 
ply:  "Yes."  With  a  passionate  kiss  they  parted. 

Horton  returned  from  his  trip  two  days  later,  ar 
riving  at  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  went 
direct  from  the  depot  to  the  Roberts  home.  He  found 
no  one  there  but  Mrs.  Eoberts,  and  she  was  in  distress. 
Corinne  had  gone  out  on  the  lake  with  Tom  Briggs 
that  afternoon,  and  they  had  not  returned.  The  doc 
tor  was  out  looking  for  them.  Horton  at  once  started 
to  the  lake.  He  was  uneasy,  but  not  greatly  alarmed. 
Tom  was  a  skillful  boatman,  but  it  was  very  unusual 
for  them  to  remain  out  to  that  time  of  night.  Hor 
ton  found  Dr.  Roberts  walking  along  the  lake  shore 
and  looking  very  grave.  Boats  had  been  sent  out  to 
look  for  the  missing  ones,  but  as  yet  none  had  re 
turned.  For  awhile  the  father  and  the  lover  walked 
the  beach  with  but  little  conversation.  At  about  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning  one  of  the  boats  that  had  been 
sent  out  returned  bringing  the  boat  in  which  Tom 
Briggs  and  Corinne  had  gone  out.  It  had  been  found 
upside  down  about  three  miles  from  shore.  An  icy 
chill  came  upon  Horton.  White,  silent,  he  paced  up 
and  down  the  beach,  hardly  recognizing  the  people 
he  met.  All  that  night  and  all  the  next  day  was  one 
long  nightmare 'to  him.  Toward  evening  one  of  his 
friends  took  him  almost  by  force  to  a  restaurant  and 
ordered  a  meal.  Horton  began  eating  voraciously,  but 


174  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

in  the  middle  of  the  meal  got  up  and  started  for  the 
lake  shore,  where  he  resumed  his  watch.  Soon  after 
dark  that  night  the  body  of  Tom  Briggs  was  washed 
ashore.  A  little  while  after  some  one  came  with  the 
hat  which  Corinne  had  worn,  which  had  been  found 
on  the  shore  some  miles  away.  All  that  night  Horton 
walked  and  watched  and  waited.  He  had  seen  the 
body  of  Tom  Briggs  and  shuddered.  With  the  gray 
of  the  morning  he  began  to  have  an  impression  of 
some  shapeless,  bloated  thing  coming  ashore  with  the 
clothes  on  which  Corinne  had  worn.  He  found  it  im 
possible  to  shake  off  this  sensation.  It  kept  growing 
on  him  and  becoming  more  vivid  until  he  could  no 
longer  bear  to  stay  at  the  lake.  The  very  sight  of  the 
water  was  agony  to  him.  He  went  to  Mrs.  Roberts, 
who  embraced  him,  crying:  "Oh,  Frank,  my  son!" 
Horton  was  as  cold  as  ice.  He  had  not  shed  a  tear. 
He  kissed  Mrs.  Roberts  and  said:  "Good-by,  I  can't 
stay." 

"Where  are  you  going,  Frank?"  asked  Mrs.  Roberts. 

"I  don't  know!"  said  Horton. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   TKAMP. 

When  Horton  left  Mrs.  Roberts  he  walked  to  the 
depot  and  stepped  on  a  train.  He  did  not  know  or 
care  where  he  was  going.  The  conductor  had  to  call 
on  him  the  second  time  for  his  fare.  Horton  mechan 
ically  handed  out  his  pass.  He  arrived  at  Cincinnati 
some  time  in  the  night.  Instead  of  going  toward  the 
city  he  started  out  along  the  railroad  track.  Pres 
ently  he  came  to  the  river  and  saw  a  boat.  He  went 
aboard.  After  the  boat  started  some  one  came  around 
and  asked  for  fare.  Horton  handed  out  a  bill.  "Mays- 
ville?"  asked  the  man.  Horton  npdded.  When  the 
boat  arrived  at  Maysville,  Kentucky,  Horton  was 
asleep.  "Here's  your  place,"  said  the  man,  shaking 
him.  He  got  up  and  went  ashore.  Walking  through 
the  town,  he  saw  the  sign  of  a  drug  store.  He  walked 
in  and  said:  "Give  me  a  quart  of  whisky."  Then  he 
walked  straight  through  the  town  and  out  into  the 
country.  He  drank  the  whisky  in  great  draughts.  He 
walked.  He  was  fleeing — trying  to  get  away  from 
himself.  He  slept  by  the  side  of  a  haystack — how 


176  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

long  he  never  knew.  He  felt  hungry  and  asked  foi 
and  got  something  to  eat.  He  came  to  a  country  tav 
ern  and  asked  if  they  kept  whisky. 

"That's  what  we've  got,"  said  the  proprietor. 

Horton  got  a  quart  and  walked  on.  He  remem* 
bered  dimly  that  a  long,  long  time  before,  in  some 
other  life,  he  had  known  an  editor  named  Horton 
who  was  going  to  marry  a  Corinne.  In  some  way 
this  Horton  and  Corinne  were  making  him  trouble. 
He  couldn't  recall  how  or  why,  but  he  wanted  to  for 
get  them.  Somehow  the  very  memory  of  them  was 
painful  to  him.  Why  did  they  persist  in  intruding  on 
him  in  this  way?  He  couldn't  recall  that  he  was  re 
lated  to  either  of  them.  And  then  Corinne  was 
drowned.  He  remembered  seeing  the  blackened, 
bloated  corpse.  "What  had  become  of  it?  Why  must 
he  be  constantly  annoyed  in  this  way? 

A  long  nightmare  followed.  How  long  Horton 
never  knew.  He  ate,  he  slept,  he  walked  on  and  on, 
he  even  conversed  with  people  sometimes.  There  was 
that  overhanging  something  always  oppressing  him. 
Just  what  it  was  he  could  not  clearly  remember. 
Once  or  twice  he  pinched  himself  in  a  dazed  way,  and 
felt  a  dull  surprise  that  one  in  a  dream  would  do  that 
and  feel  and  remember  it.  It  occurred  to  him  that 
the  appearance  of  the  sunshine,  the  trees,  the  grass 
and  flowers,  to  one  asleep,  was  somewhat  like  pictures 
seen  through  a  stereoscope.  He  could  not  recall  ever 


THE    TRAMP  177 

before  having  dreamed  of  going  asleep  and  of  wak 
ing,  and  it  seemed  to  him  a  curious  thing  that  he 
should  do  so.  The  people  seemed  natural  to  him, 
though  he  thought  some  of  the  things  they  said  to 
him  and  of  him  in  his  hearing  would  be  funny  if  he 
could  remember  them  when  he  awoke.  It  seemed 
queer  to  him,  too,  that  all  the  people  were  strangers. 
In  former  dreams  he  had  always  seen  and  talked  with 
people  he  knew.  When  at  times  glimpses  of  the  past 
obtruded  themselves,  recourse  to  his  bottle  drove 
away  the  ugly  visions.  The  days  ran  into  weeks,  and 
still  he  kept  on. 

Walking  through  a  country  town  one  day,  he  saw 
the  sign  of  a  newspaper  and  job  printing  office.  He 
stopped  and  gazed  at  it  as  a  man  might  look  if  sud 
denly  confronted  with  his  own  name  on  a  tombstone. 
Then  he  walked  into  the  office  and  said:  "I  want 
work." 

"How  long  have  you  been  on  the  bum?"  asked  the 
proprietor,  looking  him  over. 

Horton  seemed  to  try  to  recall  something,  but 
finally  shook  his  head,  saying:  "Let  me  work." 

"Well,  you  better  wash  up  and  brush  your  clothes 
first,"  said  the  proprietor,  "and  then  we'll  see  what 
you  can  do." 

He  soon  showed  what  he  could  do  when  he  got  hold 
of  printing  material.  There  was  nothing  about  the 
office  but  what  he  could  do  better  and  more  quickly 


178  THE     LAEGER     FAITH 

than  any  one  else  there.  He  was  a  glutton  for  work. 
No  hours  were  too  long  for  him.  Extra  work  seemed 
to  please  him.  Day  after  day  he  worked,  doing  every 
thing  he  was  set  at  as  if  it  were  a  rush  order.  Some 
times  he  would  suddenly  stop,  seem  to  be  trying  to 
think  of  something,  then  go  to  his  room,  which  was 
near  the  office,  and  return  with  a  strong  odor  of  liquor 
about  him.  He  made  no  effort  to  hide  this,  seeming 
not  to  look  upon  it  as  a  vice.  When  he  had  been 
working  about  three  weeks  the  proprietor  said  to 
him: 

"See  here,  Work!  Can't  you  let  up  on  this 
whisky?  You  can  have  as  good  a  job  as  there  is 
about  this  office,  and  better  pay  than  I've  been  giv 
ing  you." 

"I  was  just  going  to  tell  you  I'll  have  to  quit,"  said 
Horton. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  do  it,"  said  the  editor.  "Stay 
here  and  let  me  help  you!" 

"I  have  to  move  on,"  said  Horton. 

"Can't  I  offer  you  any  inducement  to  stay?"  asked 
the  editor. 

"It  isn't  that,"  said  Horton.    "I'm  obliged  to  you." 

Again  he  was  on  the  tramp.  Again  he  suffered  all 
the  pangs  of  memory — such  memory  as  was  left  him. 
The  curse  of  the  wandering  foot  was  on  him.  Wher 
ever  he  stopped  and  worked  he  was  recognized  as  a 
first-class  printer, and  in  some  respects  a  phenomenon. 


THE  TBAMP  179 

He  was  willing  and  anxious  to  do  the  work  of  other 
people.  He  even  relieved  the  office  devil,  and  gave 
him  half  a  dollar  with  which  to  go  to  the  show,  while 
he  did  the  work  of  that  functionary. 

Six  weeks  was  the  longest  he  ever  stayed  in  one 
place.  The  proprietor  was  congratulating  himself  on 
having  found  a  jewel  when  Horton  said:  "I  have  to 
go.  Good-by!" 

Through  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  Mississippi,  Arkan 
sas,  Texas,  he  drifted,  always  avoiding  cities  and  al 
ways  hunting  hard  work.  Was  he  sane?  Different 
persons  might  have  given  opposite  answers.  Some 
persons  thought  there  was  something  uncanny  about 
him.  He  took  long,  lonely  walks  at  night.  He  rarely 
talked  at  any  length.  And  he  drank. 

He  was  the  best  printer  that  had  .ever  been  known 
wherever  he  got  a  job.  All  the  offices  where  he 
worked  wanted  to  keep  him  and  all  failed.  When  the 
time  came  he  had  to  go  on.  Nothing  would  stay 
him.  No  offer  of  wages  had  any  effect  on  him.  What 
was  his  name?  He  could  hardly  have  told.  Some 
body  had  called  him  "Work"  soon  after  his  starting 
out,  and  that  seemed  his  proper  name.  He  did  not 
know  whether  he  gave  it  out  or  people  just  knew  it — 
he  was  called  Work,  and  he  answered  to  the  name. 
What  did  it  matter  to  him,  so  long  as  he  had  whisky? 

When  he  had  been  following  this  life  a  few  months 
his  former  habit  of  writing  began  to  assert  itself,  or 


180  THE     LAEGEE     FAITH 

rather  the  habit  of  authorship,  for  without  having 
written  a  word  he  would  proceed  to  put  in  type  ar 
ticles,  generally  short,  proofs  of  which  he  would  hand 
to  the  editor,  asking  if  he  wanted  to  use  that.  These 
articles  were  generally  quite  unconventional,  but  were 
put  in  choicest  English  and  had  a  literary  charm 
which  made  them  noticeable.  But  their  author  could 
never  be  got  to  write  anything  at  request.  He  even 
evaded  stating  that  he  was  the  responsible  author 
of  what  he  handed  in,  giving  it  as  something  he  had 
set  up  from  recollection  of  what  he  had  once  read  or 
heard. 

Once  when  he  had  gone  from  Texas  up  into  New 
Mexico  it  occurred  to  him  to  quit  drinking.  He  had 
never  acquired  a  taste  for  whisky.  On  the  contrary, 
he  disliked  it,  but  it  brought  forgetfulness.  During 
all  his  wanderings,  save  the  first  few  weeks,  he  held  to 
his  old  habits  of  personal  cleanliness.  After  every 
tramp  he  cleaned  himself  up  and  was  neat  in  his  per 
son  and  clothes.  He  quit  the  use  of  liquor  for  two 
days.  On  the  third,  the  memory  of  the  history  of 
Frank  Horton  rushed  upon  him  and  overwhelmed 
him.  He  hesitated  whether  to  seek  forgetfulness  in 
whisky  or  a  bullet.  He  reasoned  that  the  life  he  had 
been  living  was  worse  than  wasted.  It  might  as  well 
end  now  as  any  other  time.  Then  it  occurred  to  him 
to  quit  living  for  himself  and  his  own  grief,  and  begin 
living  for  others.  But  how?  What  was  there  he 


THE   TBAMP  181 

could  do  for  anybody?  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was 
daily  doing  acts  of  kindness  to  his  fellow-workmen 
and  all  others  when  he  had  a  chance,  but  he  took  no 
account  of  these  little  things  and  did  not  think  of 
them.  Still  the  thought  clung  to  him:  Live  for 
others. 

He  decided  to  do  it,  and  that  he  might  continue 
to  live  at  all,  he  got  another  supply  of  whisky. 

With  all  his  drinking  he  had  never  become  con 
vivial.  He  was  not  stingy.  He  would  give  a  fellow- 
workman  a  drink,  and  sometimes  invite  one  he  liked 
to  his  room  and  share  his  bottle  with  him.  But  he 
had  no  taste  for  hanging  about  saloons  or  being  with 
crowds. 

After  the  one  time  mentioned,  he  didn't  quit  drink 
ing.  Northward  through  New  Mexico  and  into  Colo 
rado  he  tramped  his  way,  working  a  few  days  here,  a 
few  weeks  there.  For  more  than  a  year  and  a  half  he 
had  been  without  an  object  or  a  hope,  utterly  careless 
as  to  what  the  future  had  in  store  for  him  provided 
only  he  could  forget  the  past. 

Now,  the  idea  of  doing  something  for  somebody, 
of  devoting  his  worthless  life  to  some  purpose,  had 
taken  possession  of  him.  He  thought  vaguely  of 
Dick  Briggs's  rescue  of  himself,  and  wished  he  could 
in  like  manner  save  the  life  of  some  one — anybody. 

In  this  mood  he  started  one  day  for  the  mining 
town  of  G .  It  was  long  after  night  when  he  ar- 


182  THE     LAEGEK    FAITH 

rived  there.  He  knew  it  would  be  useless  to  go  to  any 
printing  office  before  the  next  day.  He  dropped  into 
a  rough  building  used  for  a  railroad  depot  and  took  a 
seat.  He  was  asleep  when  a  watchman  shook  him  by 
the  shoulder  and  told  him  the  company  didn't  keep 
that  for  a  lodging  house,  and  there  was  no  train  for 
hours  yet.  He  went  on  the  street  and  saw  an  open 
saloon.  Going  in,  he  got  a  drink  at  the  bar  and  then 
took  a  chair  in  the  back  part  of  the  room.  Again  he 
dropped  asleep  and  again  he  was  wakened  and  told  to 
move  on.  As  he  passed  out  he  saw  by  the  clock  be 
hind  the  bar  that  it  was  after  four  o'clock.  He  went 
out  and  to  another  saloon.  It  was  the  Redlight.  Into 
this  he  went  with  the  idea  of  getting  another  drink 
and  staying  as  long  as  he  should  be  permitted. 

There  were  but  three  persons  in  the  place.  Behind 
the  bar  was  the  bartender,  and  at  a  table  toward  the 
back  of  the  room  were  two  men,  with  one  of  whom 
the  bartender  was  having  loud  words.  As  he  passed 
back  toward  where  the  two  men  sat  he  recognized  in 
the  voice  of  the  man  quarreling  with  the  bartender 
his  old  friend  Dick  Briggs.  It  was  the  first  time  since 
starting  out  on  his  tramp  that  he  had  seen  one  he  had 
known  before.  A  new  sensation  came  upon  him — 
shame  at  being  recognized.  He  dropped  into  a  chair 
and  gazed  for  a  moment  at  Dick.  He  had  been  so 
startled  that  the  subject  of  the  quarrel  had  not 
reached  him.  As  he  dropped  into  his  seat  epithets 


THE   TKAMP  183 

were  hurled  back  and  forth  between  Dick  and  the 
bartender,  and  the  latter  reached  for  a  big  revolver 
which  lay  on  the  shelf  behind  the  bar.  Just  then  a 
shot  rang  out  and  the  bartender  dropped  to  the  floor. 
It  was  Dick  who  had  fired  the  shot.  The  moment  he 
saw  what  he  had  done  he  dropped  his  revolver  and  he 
and  the  man  sitting  at  the  table  with  him  rushed  out 
the  back  door.  Horton  walked  over  to  the  table  they 
had  left,  picked  up  the  smoking  gun  and  was  gazing 
at  it  mechanically  when  some  one  grabbed  him,  took 
the  gun  away  from  him  and  said:  "Who'd  you 
shoot  at?" 

And  Horton  muttered  to  himself:    "My  chance  to 
get  even." 


CHAPTEK  XVII. 
NO.  3708. 

When  John  Doe  began  his  life  sentence  in  the 
Colorado  penitentiary  he  was  a  different  man  from 
the  one  who  had  been  arrested  charged  with  the  mur 
der  of  Phil  Ditson.  In  the  time  since  his  arrest  he 
had  become  thoroughly  sobered  from  the  effects  of 
whisky,  for  the  first  time  in  nearly  two  years.  This 
was  true  to  such  an  extent  that  the  mere  idea  of  tak 
ing  a  drink  was  distasteful  to  him.  He  did  not  feel 
that  he  had  done  anything  so  very  creditable  in  tak 
ing  the  course  he  had  with  reference  to  the  killing  of 
the  bartender.  What  he  had  offered  up  was  a  life 
worse  than  useless,  and  one  he  felt  would  not  have 
lasted  long  as  he  was  living  it.  It  seemed  to  him 
fortunate  that  something  had  occurred  to  break  up 
suddenly  and  forcibly  the  life  he  had  been  living.  If 
no  one  else  had  been  benefited  by  his  act,  the  advan 
tage  to  himself  was  sufficient  compensation. 

Did  Dick  Bri<rgs  know  of  his  incarceration,  or  that 
anybody  had  been  convicted  for  what  he  had  done? 
He  hoped  not,  for  it  wasn't  at  all  like  the  old  Dick  he 


NO.  3708  185 

had  known  to  stand  back  and  shirk  responsibility. 
Still,  if  Dick  did  know,  it  was  all  right.  There  was 
no  complaint,  no  grudge  against  Dick  or  anybody 
else.  He  had  fully  made  up  his  mind  to  spend  the 
rest  of  his  life  in  prison.  Perhaps  he  could  do  some 
good  there,  though  he  had  no  definite  notion  then  of 
the  way. 

At  first  he  was  a  puzzle  both  to  the  officers  and  to 
his  fellow-prisoners.  The  officers,  who  knew  the 
crime  for  which  he  was  sent  there  and  the  circum 
stances  of  his  trial  and  conviction,  were  inclined  to 
be  suspicious  at  the  cheerful  docility  and  apparent 
content  of  the  new  prisoner. "  They  thought  he  might 
be  trying  to  win  their  confidence  in  furtherance  of 
some  deep-laid  scheme  of  his  own.  They  soon  became 
convinced  of  his  entire  sincerity,  however,  and  then 
they  were  more  puzzled  than  before.  He  was  evi 
dently  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  education  and  re 
finement,  as  they  learned  by  noticing  his  penmanship 
and  the  books  he  chose  from  the  prison  library.  Yet 
he  seemed  to  be  perfectly  contented,  did  whatever 
work  he  was  set  at  cheerfully  and  in  the  most  thor 
ough  manner,  and  lived  up  to  the  prison  regulations 
like  a  man  who  had  been  accustomed  to  obeying  them 
all  his  life.  When,  after  he  had  been  there  some  time, 
he  was  given  clerical  work  to  do  in  connection  with 
acting  for  the  time  being  as  librarian,  he  filled  froth 
places  so  well  that  he  was  kept  there. 


186  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

To  the  prisoners  he  was  a  novelty.  The  prison  had 
a  few  men  who  were  as  well  educated  as  he,  but  none 
others  just  like  him. 

Even  among  prisoners  a  man's  real  character  soon 
becomes  known.  No.  3708  was  rated  among  them  as 
being,  in  their  language,  "all  right."  He  treated 
each  of  them  with  as  much  kindness  as  if  they  were 
all  outside  the  prison  and  he  were  a  business  man 
seeking  their  custom. 

When  he  had  been  there  some  time  another  pris 
oner  was  sent  up  from  the  same  county  where  he  had 
been  convicted.  Immediately  word  spread  among 
the  prisoners  (for  news  does  spread  among  them  some 
how)  of  how  No.  3708  had  acted  at  his  trial.  Soon 
the  impression  Avent  around  that  he  "never  killed 
nobody."  It  could  not  be  said  who  first  voiced  this 
notion,  but  it  prevailed  among  the  convicts.  One 
day  when  he  and  another  prisoner  were  privileged  to 
talk,  the  man  made  this  belief  among  the  prisoners 
known  to  him.  He  listened  quietly,  made  no  reply 
and  at  once  changed  the  conversation  to  another  sub 
ject. 

The  warden  of  the  penitentiary  had  been  closely 
observing  him,  and  whether  from  sympathy  with  the 
prevailing  sentiment  among  the  convicts  or  from  his 
own  observations,  or  both,  he  began  to  have  the  same 
opinion  as  to  the  prisoner's  guilt. 

But  there  was  one  man  connected  with  the  institu 


NO.  3708  187 

tion  who  conceived  a  deep  dislike  for  No.  3708. 
Strange  to  say,  it  was  the  chaplain.  It  came  about  in 
this  way:  During  the  first  three  or  four  months  of 
his  imprisonment  the  prisoner  had  at  various  times 
talked  with  a  number  of  his  fellow-convicts.  At  such 
times  he  did  not  exhort  them  or  even  talk  religion  to 
them,  but  he  always  aimed  to  draw  their  attention 
away  from  their  surroundings  and  to  drop  a  word 
that,  without  his  appearing  to  teach,  would  cause 
them  to  think  of  other  and  better  things. 

On  Sunday  afternoons  the  prisoners  were  privi 
leged  to  hold  a  meeting  at  which  any  who  wished 
might  speak.  Sometimes  they  called  on  each  other 
to  take  part.  The  chaplain  had  one  day  preached  a 
sermon  on  the  universal  degeneracy  of  man,  showing 
that  all  mankind  are  by  nature  depraved  and  prone  to 
sin,  and  that  the  only  means  of  escaping  this  natural 
depravity  and  the  only  hope  of  salvation  after  death 
is  the  acceptance  of  the  means  of  grace  through  the 
blood  of  the  Lamb. 

At  their  next  Sunday  afternoon  meeting  some  of 
the  prisoners  who  had  talked  with  No.  3708  wanted 
to  hear  from  him,  and  called  on  him  to  say  some 
thing.  He  talked  modestly,  but  with  entire  confi 
dence. 

Among  other  things  he  said:  "We  prisoners,  shut 
off  as  we  are  from  association  with  the  people  of  the 
world  at  large,  are  apt  to  feel  that  we  are  also  shut 


188  THE     LABGER     FAITH 

off  from  God.  Nothing  could  be  a  greater  mistake. 
Human  agencies,  forces  outside  of  ourselves,  may 
confine  our  bodies  here.  But  no  human  agency  out 
side  ourselves  can  keep  its  away  from  God  or  keep  us 
out  of  a  conscious  relationship  with  God. 

"We  are  here  presumably  because  some  law  of  the 
state  has  been  violated.  The  divine  law  needs  no 
penitentiaries  or  jails  to  enforce  obedience.  Every 
violation  of  this  law  carries  with  it  its  own  penalty 
and  each  person  metes  out  to  himself  his  own  punish 
ment.  Moreover,  the  divine  law  is  not  broken.  We 
may  break  ourselves  upon  it,  but  the  law  remains  in 
tact — eternal. 

"The  notion  that  we  are  born  into  the  world  de 
graded,  sinful  and  predisposed  to  go  contrary  to  God's 
law  seems  to  me  an  error. 

"I  believe,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  is  natural  for 
each  of  us  to  be  in  harmony  with  nature — that  is  to 
say,  with  God;  to  be  good,  not  bad;  to  do  righteous 
ness  and  not  evil. 

"The  practical  thing  for  each  of  us  to  do  is  .not 
to  waste  time  in  anguish  of  spirit  over  the  past,  but 
to  realize  the  ever-present,  all-pervading  love  of  our 
common  Father.  God's  presence  within  us  and  about 
us  is  a  reality  as  much  as  is  the  existence  of  the  at 
mosphere. 

"If  we  can  accept  this  truth  and  live  in  apprecia 
tion  of  it,  we  shall  at  once,  prisoners  though  we  be, 


NO.  3708  189 

come  into  a  freedom  of  the  soul  beside  which  the  lib 
erty  of  our  bodies  to  go  where  we  will  is  a  small 
matter." 

He  had  been  given  the  closest  attention,  and  when 
lie  sat  down  some  of  his  listeners  took  a  long  breath. 

The  chaplain  was  annoyed.  It  was  not  customary 
to  rebuke  any  one  there,  but  he  said:  "I  trust  the 
brother  who  has  just  spoken  will  yet  see  the  error  of 
his  views,  repent  and  come  to  Christ,  'for  there  is 
none  other  name  under  heaven  given  among  men 
whereby  we  must  be  saved/ '' 

The  convicts  seemed  not  to  be  impressed  just  as  the 
chaplain  was.  They  took  an  evident  interest  in  what 
had  been  said,  and  showed  their  interest  by  insisting 
at  every  subsequent  meeting  on  hearing  from  No. 
3708,  until  it  became  customary  for  him  to  give  them 
a  weekly  lecture  of  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  in  length. 
His  talks  were  full  of  love  and  spirituality,  but  thor 
oughly  unorthodox.  In  the  hearts  of  nearly  all  his 
hearers  he  had  superseded  the  chaplain.  The  latter 
saw  this,  and  was  bitter  in  his  heart  toward  the  man 
who,  himself  a  convict,  was  leading  away  from  the 
right  path  the  few  who  had  professed  religion. 

An  incident  soon  occurred,  however,  which  greatly 
relieved  the  chaplain.  When  No.  3708  had  served  a 
little  more  than  six  months  of  his  life  sentence,  he 
was  one  day  summoned  to  the  warden's  office,  and 
there  introduced  to  the  governor  of  the  state.  It 


190  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

seemed  to  him  the  governor  shook  hands  with  more 
heartiness  than  he  would  have  expected  to  be  shown 
toward  a  convict.  The  governor  looked  at  him  search- 
ingly  as  they  shook  hands,  and  then,  after  asking  him 
to  be  seated,  said: 

"Let  me  ask  you  one  or  two  questions:  Did  you 
shoot  the  man  for  whose  killing  you  were  sent  here?" 

As  the  prisoner  hesitated  the  governor  added:  "I've 
learned  that  you  were  silent  at  your  trial,  but  some 
doubt  has  been  raised  as  to  your  guilt,  and  if  you're  an 
innocent  man  you  ought  not  to  be  here." 

For  a  moment  a  passionate  longing  for  liberty  took 
possession  of  the  prisoner.  The  next  instant  the 
thought  came  that  if  he  were  released  as  innocent  the 
real  culprit  would  be  hunted  and  likely  found.  Would 
he  now  undo  all  he  had  done  for  Dick,  and  thus  re 
gain  his  lost  freedom?  In  five  seconds  he  had  de 
cided.  He  answered  quietly  and  firmly:  "Pardon  me, 
governor,  but  I  don't  care  to  make  any  statement  on 
that  subject." 

"Pardon  you?  That's  what  I  had  thought  of  doing, 
possibly,  but  I  want  your  statement." 

"I  meant  'excuse  me  from  answering,' "  said  the 
prisoner,  with  a  smile. 

After  looking  at  him  a  few  moments  the  governor 
said:  "Another  question:  Do  you  know  a  man 
named  Richard  T.  Briggs,  or  one  named  John  Mc 
Coy?" 


NO.  3708  191 

For  the  first  time  during  the  interview  the  prisoner 
exhibited  some  emotion  as  he  replied:  "I  must  again 
ask  to  be  excused  from  answering." 

The  governor  got  up  impatiently,  walked  across 
the  room  and  held  a  conversation  in  a  low  tone  with 
the  warden.  Then  he  returned,  and,  drawing  a  paper 
from  his  coat  pocket,  handed  it  to  the  prisoner,  say 
ing:  "I'd  have  taken  greater  pleasure  in  doing  this 
Mr. — Doe,  if  you  had  shown  a  little  more  interest  in 
yourself.  That  is  an  unconditional  pardon." 

The  prisoner  turned  pale  and  said  in  a  low  voice: 
"Thank  you,  governor."  Then,  as  he  mechanically 
looked  over  the  document,  he  said:  "I  will  answer 
your  first  question  now.  I  did  not  shoot  that  man." 

"I'm  satisfied  of  that,"  said  the  governor,  "or  I 
wouldn't  have  issued  the  pardon,  but  I  can't  imagine 
why  an  innocent  man  should  act  as  you've  done." 
The  prisoner  remaining  silent,  the  governor  added: 
"I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  the  man  Briggs  says  he 
did  the  shooting,  a^d  McCoy  corroborates  the  story. 
They  both  claim  it  was  done  in  self-defense.  Briggs 
says  he  was  afraid  of  being  lynched  by  the  Buck 
Brady  gang  and  skipped  out,  and  as  soon  as  he  heard 
that  you  had  been  convicted  and  sent  up  he  came  to 
me,  told  his  story  and  surrendered  himself.  But  he 
has  no  idea  who  you  are." 

"Their  story  is  exactly  true,"  said  the  prisoner. 


192  THE     LABGEH     PAITBL 

"The  bartender  was  reaching  for  his  gun  when  he 
was  shot." 

"But  why  didn't  you  tell  this  before?"  asked  the 
governor. 

"You  wouldn't  understand,"  said  the  prisoner, 
"without  a  long  explanation.  My  life  was  worthless 
at  that  time,  and — Briggs  had  once  done  me  a  great 
kindness." 

The  governor  gave  a  whistle  ending  in  a  falling 
scale.  "Well,"  he  said,  "I've  seen  some  strange  phases 
of  life  here  in  the  west,  but  that  beats  my  time." 

It  was  Saturday  afternoon.  The  prisoner  having 
expressed  a  wish  to  take  leave  of  some  of  the  other 
convicts,  the  warden  said: 

"A  good  many  of  them  will  want  to  say  good-by  to 
you.  Why  not  stay  over  Sunday,  not  as  a  prisoner, 
but  as  my  guest,  and  meet  them  to-morrow  after 
noon?  They'll  want  to  hear  you,  anyway."  It  was  so 
arranged. 

The  warden  was  right.  They  did  want  to  hear  him. 
Happy  is  the  preacher  who  has  so  large  and  so  sym 
pathetic  an  audience  as  No.  3708  had  that  Sunday. 
For  twenty  minutes  he  held  their  undivided  atten 
tion.  They  knew  he  had  been  pardoned,  and  when 
at  the  close  of  his  address  he  spoke  of  it  as  the  last  he 
would  be  likely  to  make  to  them,  many  of  his  hearers 
were  visibly  affected.  The  warden  having  given  per 
mission  to  all  to  take  leave  of  him,  for  half  an  hour 


NO.  3708  193 

they  gave  him  an  ovation.  Some  with  moist  eyes 
gave  him  a  silent  pressure  of  the  hand.  Many  ex 
pressed  the  hope  to  meet  him  when  their  time  expired. 
One  old  man  said:  "I'm  a  lifer,  and  it  ain't  likely  I'll 
ever  get  out  to  see  you,  but  you've  made  life  better  for 
all  of  us  here."  The  general  sentiment  was  pretty  ac 
curately  expressed  by  one  convict  who  remarked  to 
his  neighbor  as  they  passed  out  of  the  room:  "I'm 
glad  he's  got  his  pardon  all  right  enough,  but  I  wish 
F«J  could  trade  off  our  parson  for  him." 


CHAPTEE  XVIII. 

THE   LARGER  FAITH. 

When  Rev.  Mr.  Winter  had  been  at  Young's  ranch 
two  months  he  said  one  day  to  Young:  "I  feel  per 
fectly  well  and  able  to  return  to  Ohio,  but  I  should 
like  to  stay  here  awhile  longer,  if  you'll  keep  me." 

"Your  company  has  been  a  pleasure  to  Ned  and 
me,  and  we'll  be  glad  to  have  you  stay  as  long  as  you 
feel  like  it,"  replied  Young. 

"Sure!"  assented  Ned. 

"Then  I  want  to  pay  you  two  months'  board,"  said 
the  minister.  "What  will  be  right?" 

"Oh,"  said  Young,  "the  extra  expense  to  us  is  al 
most  nothing;  just  stay  as  our  guest." 

"No;  I'd  like  to  live  with  you  awhile,  but  I  must 
pay  my  way,"  said  the  minister. 

"Well,  if  you  feel  that  way,  $10  a  month  will  cover 
all  the  expense,"  said  Young. 

"That  seems  to  me  too  little.  I'm  perfectly  will 
ing  to  pay  $20  a  month,"  replied  the  minister,  hand 
ing  out  two  bills  of  that  denomination. 

"We'll  compromise  at  $15,"  said  Young,  and  he 


THE  LAKQEK  FAITH  195 

added,  smiling:  "We  shall  hope  your  stay  will  be  ex 
tended,  for  at  that  rate  we'll  be  making  money  off 
you/' 

Mr.  Winter's  improvement  had,  indeed,  been  rapid. 
From  the  day  of  his  arrival  he  had  begun  to  eat  well 
and  sleep  well.  Soon  he  began  to  take  walks  and  to 
chop  wood.  He  had  carried  on  the  last-named  exer 
cise  to  such  an  extent  that  Young  told  him  he  had  a 
year's  supply  on  hand. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  he  wrote  to  his 
wife  shortly  after  the  incident  above  related  will  show 
something  of  how  he  felt  in  other  respects: 

"I  do  not  attach  much  importance  to  the  doctor's 
injunction  not  to  think  of  returning  for  several 
months;  for  I  feel  as  well  as  I  ever  did  and  am  satis 
fied  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  my  lungs.  Still, 
if  you  all  remain  well  I  want  to  stay  here  awhile,  pos 
sibly  for  a  few  months. 

"I  have  told  you  that  Mr.  Young,  with  whom  I  am 
staying,  impresses  me  as  being  an  extraordinary  man. 
I  have  learned  nothing  of  his  history  save  that  he  was 
born  in  New  York.  He  seems  not  to  wish  to  talk  of 
himself,  and  of  course  I  would  not  question  him.  I 
feel  sure  that  he  is  not  in  hiding,  for  he  is  not  only 
one  of  the  best  men,  but  one  of  the  most  spiritual  men 
I  have  ever  met.  Seeing  him  out  at  work  with  his 
rough  clothes  on,  one  might  take  him  for  a  common 
laborer  or  a  ranchman.  Get  him  started  to  talking  on 
books  in  his  pleasant  sitting  room  of  an  evening  and 


196  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

you'd  think  him  some  professor  of  English  literature 
living  out  here  in  disguise. 

"But  it  is  another  side  of  this  many-sided  man  that 
interests  me  most,  and  that,  in  truth,  is  keeping  me 
here  now.  When  I  came  here  I  found  on  his  table  a 
well-worn  bible  and  a  copy  of  Cruden's  Concordance, 
the  same  I  have  used.  On  the  book  shelves  were  Mat 
thew  Henry's  and  Meyer's  Commentaries  on  the  Bible, 
besides  several  books  and  many  articles  in  periodicals 
which  I  had  never  read  touching  modern  criticism 
of  the  bible.  Mr.  Young  never  makes  a  display  of  his 
knowledge  on  any  subject,  and  is  difficult  to  draw  out 
at  times,  but  I  found  when  I  succeeded  in  getting 
him  started  that  he  has  been  a  profound  student  not 
only  of  the  bible  but  of  religion.  I  do  not  think  he 
belongs  to  any  church,  but  there  are  few  men  so  well 
fitted  to  teach  religion.  I  must  say  to  you  frankly,  my 
dear,  that  after  having  been  twenty-five  years  in  the 
ministry  I  am  not  sure  but  this  western  ranchman 
knows  more  of  God  than  I  have  learned.  I  am  going 
to  stay  here  with  a  view  of  learning.  I  have  not  told 
Mr.  Young  anything  of  this,  and  shall  not,  but  I  con 
fess  to  you  that  some  things  he  has  said  have  made  me 
feel  that  a  large  part  of  all  my  work  has  been  devoted 
to  the  mere  shell  of  religion.  I  grieve  to  think  that 
this  is  true,  but  I  have  always  tried  to  live  up  to  my 
honest  convictions  and  I  mean  to  do  that  now. 

"I  am  taking  a  second  course  in  theology,  then, 
with  a  man  for  a  teacher  who  was  never  in  a  theo 
logical  seminary,  probably,  and  who  would  admit  be 
ing  unorthodox.  And  that  reminds  me:  The  only 
harsh  things  I  have  heard  him  say  were  directed  at 
orthodoxy,  which  he  looks  upon  as  opposed  to  re- 


THE  LARGER  FAITH  197 

ligion.  Usually  he  seems  to  have  a  boundless  charity 
for  all  mankind  and  for  everything.  He  has  a  re 
markable  faculty  of  arousing  love  toward  himself.  The 
very  animals  love  him  and  the  people  here  who  know 
him  seem  almost  to  reverence  him.  I  cannot  account 
for  it,  unless  it  is  because  he  loves  others,  and  love 
begets  love." 

This  letter  created  no  anxiety  in  the  mind  of  Mrs. 
Winter.  She  had  unbounded  faith  in  her  husband, 
and  was  confident  not  only  that  he  would  do  what  was 
right,  but  also  that  he  would  know  what  was  right. 
She  was  gratified  at  the  news  of  his  good  health,  and 
filled  with  curiosity  to  see  that  Mr.  Young  who  had 
made  such  an  impression  on  the  mind  of  her  hus 
band. 

While  Young  did  not  avoid  the  subject  of  religion 
in  talking  with  Rev.  Mr.  Winter,  he  felt  reluctant  to 
obtrude  his  views  upon  the  minister.  He  never  sus 
pected  that  the  minister  was  trying  to  learn  of  him. 
In  the  few  talks  they  had  had  on  matters  touching 
religion  his  arguments  had  been  combated  by  Mr. 
Winter,  and  Young  took  it  for  granted  that  the  min 
ister  regarded  his  views  as  unorthodox  and,  therefore, 
unsound.  He  feared  he  had  once  or  twice  exceeded 
the  bounds  of  courtesy  when  drawn  out  by  the  min 
ister's  arguments.  For  the  idea  of  making  a  convert 
of  Mr.  Winter  or  of  trying  to  change  any  of  his  be 
liefs  never  entered  Young's  mind.  The  minister  was 


198  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

much  older  than  himself,  had  been  in  the  ministry  a 
long  time,  and  doubtless  had  well-settled  views  on 
all  matters  touching  religion. 

Still,  of  late  he  noticed  that  Mr.  Winter  seemed  dis 
posed  to  talk  on  such  subjects,  and  also  much  dis» 
posed  to  listen.  It  occurred  to  Young  that  the  min^ 
ister  had  determined  to  make  a  convert  of  him,  and 
he  resolved,  if  further  pressed,  to  speak  out  frankly 
and  openly. 

Opportunities  were  not  lacking.  One  evening  the 
minister  said  to  him:  "I  have  never  heard  you  speak 
of  the  miracles  performed  by  Jesus  Christ.  Do  you 
believe  in  them?" 

"Yes,  and  no,"  answered  Young.  "To  get  any  un 
derstanding  of  the  miracles  of  Jesus  we  must  remem> 
ber  in  the  first  place  that  we  have  a  very  imperfect 
account  of  him  and  his  life — an  account  which  prob 
ably  does  him  less  than  justice,  even  where  it  attempts 
to  do  him  more.  All  we  have  are  mere  fragmentary 
statements  of  what  He  said  and  did,  written  years 
after  the  occurrences. 

"In  those  times  the  belief  in  the  supernatural  was 
universal.  Miracles  were  attributed  to  very  many 
persons  besides  Jesus.  But  what  are  miracles?  You 
say  something  supernatural.  Strictly  speaking,  there 
is  not  and  never  was  anything  supernatural,  and  yet 
the  world  to-day  is  full  of  natural-supernaturalism. 
We  do  not  even  yet  know  much  about  nature.  A  few 


THE   LARGER   FAITH  199 

years  ago  the  idea  that  persons  hundreds  of  miles  dis 
tant  from  each  other  could  speak  and  recognize  each 
other's  voices  would  have  seemed  necessarily  to  in 
volve  a  miracle.  We  now  know  it  is  entirely  in  ac 
cordance  with  the  laws  of  nature,  and  the  Pharaohs 
might  have  had  the  telephone  had  the  people  of  that 
day  known  as  much  of  nature  in  this  respect  as  do  the 
people  of  to-day.  You  have  seen  what  are  called 
birthmarks?" 

"Yes,  frequently,"  replied  the  minister. 

"What  causes  them?"  asked  Young. 

"Well,  I  have  always  understood  they  were  ac 
counted  for  by  a  pre-natal  condition  of  the  mother," 
said  the  minister. 

"That  is  to  say,  a  condition  of  the  mother's  mind?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  minister,  "some  strong  impression 
on  the  mother's  mind." 

"Is  every  birthmark  a  miracle?"  asked  Young. 

"No;  they  are  not  regarded  as  miracles,"  said  the 
minister. 

"No,  because  they  are  common,"  said  Young.  "And 
yet  every  birthmark,  in  its  last  analysis,  is  the  result 
of  a  thought,  of  the  effect  of  mind  upon  matter  Is 
not  that  so?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is."  a^e  t~d  *hp  miri^er. 

"You  have  perhaps  heard  soldiers  say,  as  I  have, 
that  many  men  in  the  army  died  of  pure  homesick 
ness,  without  having  any  physical  ailment?" 


200  THE     LAKGER     FAITH 

"Yes,  I  have  been  told  of  such  cases.  Some  of  my 
acquaintances  were  said  to  have  died  in  that  way," 
said  the  minister. 

"I  have  simply  mentioned  these  as  some  of  the 
hundreds  of  instances  we  have  at  hand  of  the  effect 
of  the  mind,  or  of  spirit,  upon  matter.  Now,  a  num 
ber  of  the  miracles  of  Jesus  consisted  in  the  casting 
out  of  devils,  or  demons,  the  belief  in  which  was  uni 
versal.  At  that  time,  too,  the  insane  and  demented 
of  that  country  wandered  about  at  will — as  they  do, 
in  fact,  to  this  day.  Is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that  upon 
such  people — those  supposing  themselves  to  be  filled 
with  devils  and  those  who  were  demented — the  per 
sonality  of  Jesus,  of  which  we  have  so  imperfect  a 
description,  should  have  had  a  soothing,  quieting, 
or,  if  you  please,  a  healing  effect?  Jesus  undoubt 
edly  healed  many  others  whose  ills,  like  the  ills  of 
to-day,  were  largely  mental  rather  than  physical. 
His  biographers  evidently  considered  it  necessary  to 
invest  him  with  supernatural  powers,  and  the  same 
power  was  claimed  in  those  times  for  numerous  other 
persons.  Jesus  Himself  never  made  such  a  claim,  and 
more  than  once  shrank  from  appearing  to  perform 
miracles  and  from  getting  the  name  of  doing  so,  en 
joining  those  around  him  to  say  nothing  about  it. 

"If  you  ask  me,  then,  if  I  believe  Jesus  healed  the 
sick,  made  the  blind  to  see  and  the  lame  to  walk,  I  an 
swer  unhesitatingly,  Yes.  I  believe  he  did  all  these 


THE   LABGEE  FAITH  201 

things  in  a  natural  way,  and  that  they  are  all  being 
done  to-day  in  a  natural  way,  without  the  use  of 
medicines. 

"If  you  ask  me  if  I  believe  Jesus  ever  did  anything 
which  was  in  its  strict  sense  supernatural  and  incapa 
ble  of  being  performed  to-day,  I  answer,  No.  I  re 
peat,  however,  that  our  knowledge  of  nature  and  of 
natural  powers  and  possibilities  is  yet  so  limited  that 
it  is  difficult  for  us,  even  now,  to  say  what  is  a  mir 
acle. 

"All  nature  is  a  miracle,  so  far  as  our  ability  to  ex 
plain  the  processes  of  nature  is  concerned.  We  know 
that  in  the  springtime  the  sap  goes  upward  in  tree 
life.  We  know  that  upon  the  rosebush  the  bud  be 
gins  to  swell  and  finally  develops  into  the  full-blown 
rose;  that  upon  the  grapevine  is  developed  by  slow 
and  imperceptible  degrees  the  perfect  bunches  of 
ripened  grapes.  But  how  this  is  done  or  why  it  is  so 
is  absolutely  as  far  beyond  our  ken  as  is  the  turning 
of  water  into  wine.  So  far  as  the  how  and  why  are  con 
cerned — that  is  to  say,  when  it  comes  to  explaining 
the  process  by  which  results  are  brought  about — the 
resurrection  of  Lazarus  after  he  had  been  dead  four 
days  was  no  greater  miracle  than  is  the  coming  into 
life  and  birth  of  a  child." 

For  a  time  they  sat  silent.  Then  the  minister  said: 
"It  seems  to  me  your  views  on  miracles  and  your  dis 
belief  in  the  supernatural  are  inconsistent  with  a  be* 


202  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

lief  in  special  providences.  You  will  admit,  will  you 
not,  that  God  at  times  intervenes  directly  in  the  af 
fairs  of  this  world?" 

"Not  as  you  state  it,"  replied  Young.  "My  belief 
is  broader  than  that.  I  believe  that  God,  through  es 
tablished  law,  controls  and  directs  the  universe  at  all 
times." 

"So  do  I,"  said  the  minister.  "I  believe,  too,  in 
special  providences." 

"That  is  to  say,"  asked  Young,  "that  the  natural 
order  of  things  is  suspended  or  changed  by  Deity  at 
particular  times  or  places?" 

"Yes,  if  you  choose  to  put  it  that  way,"  replied  the 
minister. 

"Let  us  see,"  said  Young.  "God  is  unchangeable. 
God's  laws,  which  are  the  laws  of  nature,  the  laws 
governing  the  universe,  are  immutable.  Now,  that 
for  particular  purposes  or  upon  special  occasions  an 
unchangeable  God  would  or  could  suspend  or  alter 
the  operation  of  immutable  laws  is  to  me  unthink 
able." 

"But,  Mr.  Young,  isn't  all  this  destructive  of  the 
very  basis  of  the  Christian  religion?" 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Young.  "As  I  once  be 
fore  said,  I  look  upon  true  Christianity  as  the  final 
religion  of  mankind,  embodying  as  it  doas  in  its  es 
sentials  the  essence  of  all  true  religion.  In  my  judg 
ment,  the  greatest  hindrance  to  the  wider  diffusion  of 


THE  LABGEB  FAITH  203 

the  Christian  religion  among  mankind  to-day  is  the 
foolish  insistence,  on  the  part  of  those  who  assume  to 
speak  for  it,  upon  impossible  beliefs  in  non-essential 
miracles  and  senseless  supernaturalism." 

At  another  time,  after  the  minister  had  been  draw 
ing  Young  out  on  similar  questions  for  a  time,  he 
said: 

"What  do  you  call  your  religious  belief  or  doc 
trine?" 

"It  would  be  a  mistake,"  replied  Young,  "for  you 
to  suppose  that  my  belief  is  either  original  with  or 
peculiar  to  myself.  There  is  nothing  esoteric  about  it. 
I  believe  there  are  thousands,  many  of  them  from 
force  of  habit  or  of  conventionality  in  the  churches, 
who  share  my  belief.  I  have  never  heard  it  given  a 
name,  but  if  I  were  to  designate  it  I  should  call  it — 
the  larger  faith." 

"Is  it  not  a  misnomer  to  call  it  a  larger  faith  when 
there  are  so  many  things  you  don't  believe  which  are 
believed  by  the  churches?" 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  answered  Young.  "A  belief 
is  not  necessarily  large  because  it  includes  a  great 
number  of  small  things,  especially  if  those  things  are 
not  founded  in  reason  and  are  unimportant  if  true. 
To  me  this  faith  of  ours  seems  infinitely  higher, 
deeper,  broader,  than  the  professed  belief  of  any  of 
the  churches.  It  is  as  wide  as  the  universe  and  does 


204:  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

not  limit  God  by  investing  him  with  human  quali 
ties,  frailties  and  passions." 

"I  believe  I'll  take  a  walk/'  said  the  minister,  after 
a  pause.  "I  feel  the  need  of  fresh  air." 

For  a  long  time  he  walked  in  the  starlight  of  the 
cloudless  New  Mexican  night.  As  he  walked,  he  ex 
perienced  an  exaltation  of  spirit.  His  mental  horizon 
seemed  to  expand,  his  spiritual  vision  to  be  clarified. 
Never  had  religion  as  a  part  of  man's  nature  seemed 
to  him  of  so  great  importance  as  it  seemed  then. 
Never  had  he  so  clearly  perceived  the  utter  littleness 
and  unimportance  of  all  creeds. 

In  the  days  that  followed  Young  and  his  guest  had 
many  long  talks  which  need  not  be  recorded  here. 

When  at  the  end  of  five  months  Eev.  Mr.  Winter 
took  his  departure  he  said  to  Young:  "For  the  rest 
of  my  life  I  am  going  to  preach  the  larger  faith." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MAUDE. 

From  a  very  remote  period  in  history  writers  have 
from  time  to  time  noted  the  effects  upon  the  lives  of 
men  and  nations  of  what  in  themselves  seemed  to  be 
very  trifling  incidents.  It  is  said  the  course  of  a 
stream  has  been  changed  by  a  pebble;  that  a  decisive 
battle  was  once  lost  because  the  dinner  of  the  com 
mander  on  one  side  was  badly  cooked.  A  good  many 
years  ago  attention  was  called  to  the  extensive  con 
flagration  which  might  originate  in  a  small  fire.  Cer 
tain  it  is  that  what  seem  to  be  very  small  circum 
stances  are  often  the  starting  points  of  more  or  less 
important  events. 

At  the  boarding-house  where  Darrell  made  his 
home  there  lived  a  Mr.  North,  a  gentleman  of  inde 
pendent  means  and  no  family.  This  Mr.  North  was 
about  fifty-five  years  old,  very  regular  in  his  habits 
and  fond  of  a  game  of  whist,  which  he  generally  man 
aged  to  have  in  the  evening.  During  the  three  years 
he  and  Darrell  had  lived  in  the  same  house  they  had 
become  well  acquainted,  and,  for  persons  so  dissim- 


206  THE     LAEGEE     FAITH 

ilar  in  age,  rather  chummy.  Mr.  North  was  in  every 
thing  a  thoroughgoing  conservative.  He  was  op 
posed  on  principle  to  innovations,  whether  in  politics, 
religion,  business  or  social  matters.  He  had  some  pet 
theories,  one  of  which  was  that  all  men  act  from  self 
ish  motives.  Selfishness,  he  argued,  was  the  main 
spring  of  all  action,  whether  of  governments,  com 
munities  or  individuals.  It  is  but  fair  to  him  to  say 
that  in  his  daily  life  he  did  not  seem  to  exemplify  his 
own  theory.  He  was  generous,  kind-hearted  and 
careful  not  to  offend  others  or  infringe  on  their 
rights.  Still,  he  insisted  that  he  was  selfish,  like 
everybody  else.  When  one  day  Darrell,  referring  to 
some  beneficence  which  the  old  gentleman  had  con 
ferred,  taxed  him  with  not  living  up  to  his  own 
theory,  he  replied: 

"You  take  a  wrong  view  altogether.  I  do  these 
things  simply  because  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  do  them. 
It  is  pure  selfishness  on  my  part." 

Darrell  one  evening  remarked  that  the  next  day 
he  had  to  go  to  the  city  of  E . 

"How  long  are  you  going  to  be  in  E ?"  asked 

Mr.  North. 

"One  day,  possibly  two,"  answered  Darrell. 

"I  have  an  old  college  classmate  up  there,"  said  Mr. 
North,  "whom  I  have  not  seen  for  years,  Tom  Briggs, 
a  druggist.  I  wish  you'd  call  on  him  if  you  get  time. 
Fll  give  you  a  note  of  introduction." 


MAUDE  207 

"I'll  have  time  to  see  him,"  said  Darrell. 

When  Darrell  had  finished  his  business  for  the  day 

at  E he  called  on  Mr.  Briggs  at  his  drug  store 

and  presented  the  letter  of  introduction.  Mr.  Briggs, 
having  read  the  letter,  treated  Darrell  cordially,  asked 
many  questions  about  their  friend  North,  and  before 
he  left  invited  him  to  take  dinner  and  spend  the 
evening  with  the  Briggs  family,  an  invitation  which 
Darrell  accepted. 

That  evening  he  met  Mrs.  Briggs  and  Miss  Maude 
Briggs.  He  had  accepted  the  invitation  almost  per 
functorily,  and  largely  because  he  had  nothing  else 
to  do.  Before  the  evening  was  over,  however,  he  felt 
it  would  have  been  a  great  misfortune  to  him  not  to 
have  met  this  family,  while  at  the  same  time  it  seemed 
to  him  he  had  never  appeared  to  so  great  disadvan 
tage.  Although  he  was  not  what  is  called  a  society 
man,  he  was  yet  quite  accustomed  to  the  usages  of 
polite  society  and  to  associating  with  people  at  vari 
ous  social  functions.  He  was  neither  a  boy  nor  a 
neophyte  in  matters  social,  and  yet  when  for  the  first 
time  he  met  Maude  Briggs  he  felt  himself  blushing 
and  at  a  loss  for  something  to  say.  He  tried  to  shake 
off  this  feeling  and  regain  his  usual  composure,  but 
with  poor  success.  He  felt  irritated  that  neither  his 
friend  North  nor  the  girl's  father  had  told  him  there 
was  a  Miss  Briggs,  so  that  he  might  not  have  been 
taken  by  surprise. 


THE     LARGER     FAITH 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  Darrell,  more  for  the 
purpose  of  trying  to  get  relief  from  the  embarrass 
ment  which  annoyed  and  irritated  him  than  because 
he  wanted  to  hear  any  piano  playing,  asked  Miss 
Briggs  to  favor  them  with  some  music. 

The  truth  was  that  Darrell  had  once  thought  he 
liked  music,  but  at  the  boarding-house  where  he  lived 
was  a  Miss  Crites  who  was  accustomed  to  sit  down 
and  thump  the  piano  from  one  end  of  the  keyboard 
to  the  other  in  a  way  that  exhibited  great  facility  in 
the  use  of  her  fingers,  but  was  anything  but  pleasing 
to  Darrell.  He  thought  she  could  play  anything  in 
the  world — but  music.  And  then  she  had  a  voice — 
such  a  voice!  She  could  sing,  he  had  often  heard  it 
said,  away  up  to  high  something,  he  had  forgotten 
\vhat,  but  it  was  considerably  higher  than  the  point 
— if  there  was  a  point — at  which  her  voice  sounded 
well  to  him.  She  professed  to  be  fond  of  "Annie 
Laurie,"  and  Darrell  had  heard  her  often  sing  in  a 
voice  which  could  be  heard  somewhere  in  the  next 
block: 

"Mac  Swelton'a  bra-a-ays  are  baw-ne-e-e " 

till  he  wished  old  Mac  Swelton  and  his  brays  had 
never  been  invented. 

When  Darrell  asked  Maude  Briggs  to  play  she 
didn't  say  that  she  was  out  of  practice;  she  didn't  run 
the  piano  stool  either  up  or  down.  She  seated  herself, 


MAUDE  209 

and  instead  of  the  preliminary  chase  up  and  down 
the  keys  which  Darrell  was  expecting  she  touched 
the  keys  as  if  she  loved  them,  and  glided  off  quietly 
into  one  of  Mendelssohn's  songs  without  words.  The 
girl  evidently  had  plebeian  tastes,  for  after  one  or  two 
other  melodies  Darrell  found  himself  listening  to  the 
tune  of  an  old  song  not  at  all  fashionable  and  scorn 
fully  rejected  by  most  pianists  as  not  being  classic. 
Even  this  old  song  Miss  Briggs  played  without  those 
variations  in  which  amateur  pianists  so  love  to  in 
dulge.  When  she  had  finished  the  tune  Darrell  asked 
her  to  sing,  and  in  answer  to  an  inquiry  as  to  what 
kind  of  songs  he  liked  he  said — unblushing  liar  that 
he  had  become — that  "Annie  Laurie"  was  one  of  his 
favorites.  After  a  short  prelude  Miss  Briggs  sang  the 
song  with  subdued  feeling  and,  as  Darrell  thought, 
with  the  finest  taste.  It  may  have  been  in  a  lower 
key  than  Miss  Crites  used;  certain  it  was  that  Miss 
Briggs  didn't  squeal  on  the  high  notes. 

Darrell  was  for  once  entirely  sincere  in  expressing 
the  pleasure  he  felt  in  listening  to  both  the  playing 
and  singing. 

Before  taking  his  leave  of  the  Briggs  family  Dar 
rell  was  intrusted  with  various  messages  of  good  will 
to  Mr.  North  and — what  was  much  more  important  to 
him — was  asked  to  come  and  see  them  whenever  he 
should  be  in  the  city.  He  was  not  exactly  lying  when 
he  said  he  expected  to  be  in  E again  within  a 


210  THE     LAEGEB     FAITH 

month,  though  before  coming  to  that  house  he  had  no 
such  expectation. 

He  was  in  E again  within  the  time  he  had 

stated,  and  he  spent  another  evening  at  the  Briggs 
household.  About  a  fortnight  later  he  was  there 
again.  After  the  first  few  visits  he  quit  giving 

Ananias  reasons  for  coming  to  E so  often,  and  it 

is  to  the  credit  of  his  intelligence  that  he  had  sense 
enough  to  quit  this  in  time  to  preserve  some  reputa 
tion  for  veracity  with  the  Briggs  family. 

After  awhile,  in  some  way,  Darrell  and  Maude 
Briggs  got  to  writing  letters  to  each  other.  Then,  in 
the  first  letter  after  one  of  his  visits,  he  addressed  her 
as  "My  Dear  Maude,"  and  in  her  reply,  sent  the  day 
after  the  receipt  of  his  letter,  she  addressed  him  as 
"My  Dear  John."  But  why  prolong  the  recital?  It 
was  in  the  case  of  these  two  young  people  the  story 
as  old  as  humanity,  yet  as  new  as  the  freshly  opened 
rose.  "All  the  world  loves  a  lover,"  because  in  every 
pure  love,  whether  of  man  and  woman  for  each  other, 
of  parent  for  child  or  of  man  for  mankind,  there  is 
something  of  divinity — something  which  makes  the 
lover  God-like.  And  thus  it  is  that  while  hatreds 
and  enmities  are  forgotten,  while  memories  of  na 
tions  and  of  human  greatness  are  lost,  the  story  of 
love  will  have  an  ever-renewed  interest  so  long  as  man 
is  man. 

Darrell  could  not  long  keep  to  himself  the  secret 


MAUDE  211 

of  his  great  happiness.  He  first  told  his  friend  North, 
who  promptly  claimed  all  the  credit  of  the  arrange 
ment  on  account  of  his  letter  of  introduction,  a  claim 
which  Darrell  admitted  without  argument.  In  writ 
ing  to  Young  he  said  at  the  end  of  his  letter: 

"I  supposed  myself  to  be  a  confirmed  bachelor 
when  I  saw  you — at  any  rate,  I  had  no  idea  of  marry 
ing.  Since  then  I  have  met  and  become  engaged  to 
the  sweetest  woman  in  the  world.  The  time  of  our 
marriage  is  not  fixed  yet,  but  it  will  be  about  next 
April  or  May.  Can't  you  arrange  to  come  to  our 
wedding?" 

When  Young  got  this  letter  he  had  been  thinking 
seriously  of  leaving  his  ranch,  at  least  for  a  time.  He 
felt  that  he  had  mastered  himself,  or,  as  he  put  it, 
that  he  had  learned  to  possess  his  soul.  He  had  not 
fully  decided  where  he  would  go  or  what  he  would 
do,  but  the  idea  of  doing  what  he  could  to  help  others, 
which  had  first  taken  possession  of  him  long  before, 
had  now  become  a  fixed  purpose.  He  had  been  wait 
ing  to  be  sure  of  himself.  Now  it  was  only  a  ques 
tion  of  where  to  go  and  what  to  do. 

Ned  Long,  since  being  at  the  ranch,  had  made  such 
progress  in  his  studies  that  he  was  a  well-informed 
young  man  of  his  age,  especially  in  history,  in  which 
study  he  took  a  keen  delight.  In  the  matter  of  look 
ing  after  Young's  property  Ned  was  even  more  care- 


212  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

ful  than  Young  himself.  Young  knew  that  every 
thing  left  in  Ned's  care  would  be  as  safe  as  if  he  were 
there.  In  this  frame  of  mind  he  answered  Darrell's 
letter,  congratulating  him  heartily,  and  adding: 

"It  is  quite  probable  I  shall  accept  your  invitation 
and  be  present  at  your  wedding.  You  once  asked  if 
I  intended  to  remain  here  always.  I  have  been  think 
ing  for  some  time  of  going  away,  but  have  not  decided 
just  where.  I  shall  probably  leave  here  in  the  spring, 
for  a  time  at  least. 

"By  the  way,  you  did  not  mention  the  name  of  your 
fiancee.  I  presume  she  lives  in  C and  the  wed 
ding  is  to  be  there,  as  you  said  nothing  to  the  con 
trary." 

When  Darrell  called  on  Maude  after  receiving  this 
letter  he  told  her  he  had  invited  to  the  wedding  his 
western  ranchman  friend  who  had  taken  care  of  him 
when  he  had  a  sprained  ankle,  and  of  whom  he  had 
spoken  to  her  before. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him,"  said  Maude,  "and  to 
thank  him  for  what  he  did  for  you.  But  what  will 
he  look  like  if  he  comes?  Will  he  wear  his  cow-boy 
clothes?" 

"I  don't  think  we  need  worry  about  his  looks  or 
his  clothes,"  answered  Darrell.  "The  probability  is 
that  he'll  outshine  the  other  men  present,  including 
the  groom." 


MAUDE  213 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  that,"  said  Maude,  "but  I  want  to 
see  him." 

Darrell  wrote  a  short  letter  to  Young,  in  the  course 
of  which  he  said: 

"The  truth  is,  I  was  too  happy  to  be  very  coherent 
when  I  wrote  to  you  last.  I'm  still  happy,  but  I'll  try 
to  be  coherent  this  time.  The  name  of  my  affianced 

wife  is  Maude  Briggs,  and  her  home  is  in  E , 

Ohio,  up  on  the  lake,  you  know.  The  wedding  will  be 
at  her  home,  of  course.  I  have  told  Maude  of  you, 
and  she  is  anxious  to  meet  you  and  thank  you  for 
what  you  did  for  me." 

Alas  for  the  man  who  thinks  he  has  mastered  him 
self!  When  Young  g'ot  this  letter  it  brought  back 
with  a  rush  all  his  past  life,  all  his  past  anguish,  and 
his  first  impulse  was  to  go  over  to  Vigil's  and  take  a 
drink.  Then  the  time  subsequent  to  his  great  grief 
passed  before  him,  and  he  said  to  himself:  "No,  what 
ever  of  hell  I  suffer  hereafter,  whisky  will  not  be  any 
part  of  it."  Hastily  mounting  his  horse,  he  started 
for  the  ranch  at  a  pace  that  made  the  bystanders  look 
on  in  surprise. 

"Goes  off  like  he'd  been  sent  for  sudden,"  re 
marked  one. 

"They  say  that  gray  can  go  to  his  ranch  in  a  little 
over'n  hour,"  said  another. 

"Y'  ought  to  see  th'  way  he  takes  care  of  his  horse, 


214  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

though,"  put  in  another.  "When  he  gets  home  a 
big  blanket  goes  on,  covers  the  horse  from  head  to 
tail,  'nd  it  stays  on  for'n  hour;  then  th'  horse  gets  a 
feed." 

"I  don't  believe  in  sidewheelers,  generally,"  said 
the  first  speaker;  "they  can't  stand  the  racket;  but 
that  one  of  Young's  is  a  good  one  all  right  enough." 

"Young  says  the  only  trouble  is  they  ride  so  easy 
that  fellers  ride  'em  to  death  without  knowin'  it," 
said  one  of  the  lookers-on. 

"Don't  know  but  he's  right,"  said  another.  "His 
gray  c'n  stay  with  any  of  'em,  anyhow." 

That  evening  Young  said  to  Ned  Long:  "Ned,  did 
you  ever  drink  anything — beer  or  whisky  or  wine?" 

"No,  I  never  did,"  said  Ned. 

"I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  you,"  said  Young.  "You're 
most  likely  to  take  the  first  drink  from  a  desire  to  be 
friendly:  then  when  you  feel  a  little  excited,  either 
very  good  or  very  bad.  I  wouldn't  drink  at  all." 

Young  soldom  gave  advice  to  Ned  unless  asked. 
Ned  was  so  anxious  to  please  and  to  follow  his  guard 
ian  that  it  wasn't  necessary. 

After  what  Young  said  Ned  would  have  lost  a 
limb  rather  than  take  a  drink  of  liquor. 

A  few  days  later  Young  wrote  to  Darrell  saying:  "1 
will  be  at  your  wedding.  Let  me  know  the  date  in 
ample  time." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   HEKETIC. 

When  Eev.  David  Winter  returned  to  C from 

New  Mexico  he  was  urged  by  many  members  of  his 
last  congregation  again  to  accept  the  pastorate  of  the 
First  Presbyterian  church.  The  church  had  not  been 
in  a  flourishing  condition  since  Mr.  Winter's  resigna 
tion.  The  church  debt  had  been  such  a  burden  that 
the  congregation  had  felt  unable  to  employ  a  regular 
pastor,  and  the  pulpit  was  filled — or  partially  filled — 
from  week  to  week  with  "supplies." 

To  all  of  those  who  asked  Mr.  Winter  to  accept  a 
call  from  the  congregation  he  replied  that  he  ex 
pected  to  withdraw  from  the  Presbyterian  ministry 
and  from  the  church  and  become  an  independent 
preacher.  Some  of  those  to  whom  he  made  this  state 
ment  were  greatly  shocked;  others,  after  talking  with 
him,  approved  his  course  and  expressed  an  intention 
of  attending  his  church,  provided  he  preached  in  that 
city.  In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  a  number  of  per 
sons  had  become  sufficiently  interested  to  look  around 
for  an  auditorium  with  a  view  of  having  him  preach 


216  THE     LABOER     FAITH 

to  them.  Finding  no  other  suitable  room,  they  se 
cured  the  use  of  a  theater,  and  the  first  meeting  was 
announced  for  the  next  Sunday. 

Mr.  Winter  found  himself  facing  a  large  audience 
upon  his  first  appearance  as  an  independent  preacher. 
Very  diverse  motives  had  brought  the  members  of 
the  assembly  together.  Some  of  them  were  former 
attendants  at  the  church  where  Mr.  Winter  had  last 
preached,  who  believed  in  him  and  in  his  preaching; 
some  were  persons  who  had  heard  something  of  his 
treatment  by  the  officers  of  his  former  congregation 
and  who  wanted  to  hear  him  "give  it  to  the  Presbyteri 
ans,"  while  still  others,  knowing  of  his  withdrawal 
from  the  ministry  and  the  church  to  which  he  had  be 
longed,  expected  that  he  would  take  a  fling  at  religion 
generally.  Darrell  had  induced  his  friend  North  to 
go  with  him,  though  after  some  grumbling  on  the  part 
of  the  old  gentleman. 

"Why  couldn't  the  damned  preacher  stick  to  his 
knitting,"  he  said,  "and  preach  where  he  belonged? 
I  don't  have  much  use  for  religion,  but  when  I  do 
have,  my  mother's  bible  will  be  good  enough  for  me!" 

"By  the  way,"  said  Darrell,  "what  did  you  pay  that 
oculist  $17  for  yesterday?" 

"Why,  for  fitting  my  eyes  with  a  pair  of  glasses. 
They're  fine  ones,  too — each  one  exactly  suited  to 
the  eye.  That  fellow  understands  his  business." 

"Why  didn't  you  get  a  pair  of  glasses  like  your 


THE   HERETIC  217 

parents  did?"  said  Darrell.  "You  could  have  got 
them  ready  made  for  about  80  cents  and  saved  some 
thing  over  $16." 

"You're  going  to  the  dogs,  John,  fast,"  growled  the 
old  man.  "Glasses  and  religion  haven't  anything  to 
do  with  each  other,  and  you  know  it." 

With  but  few  preliminaries  Mr.  Winter  announced 
his  text  and  preached  a  sermon  about  twenty-five 
minutes  in  length,  which  is  here  given  in  full: 

"  'If  we  love  one  another,  God  dwelleth  in  us  and 
His  love  is  perfected  in  us.'  I.  John,  iv.,  12. 

"The  Garden  of  Eden  story  is  so  familiar  that  we 
need  not  rehearse  its  details.  As  an  example  of  an 
cient  literature  it  is  of  great  interest  and  value.  It  is 
dramatic  in  quality.  It  is  poetic  in  its  style.  It  is  ar 
tistic  in  its  arrangement  of  the  plot  and  in  its  adjust 
ment  of  dramatic  action.  But  theology  has  chosen 
to  make  it  also  an  inspired  proclamation  of  the  origin 
of  sin  and  of  saving  religion  for  the  human  race. 

"The  masses  of  Jewish  and  Christian  people  have 
indorsed  this  estimate  of  the  story.  We  have  unhesi 
tatingly  accepted  it  as  the  fundamental  enactment  of 
the  Christian  religion.  We  base  our  systems  of 
theology  upon  it.  We  plant  our  churches  upon  its 
statements.  It  inspires  our  catechisms.  It  deter 
mines  our  confessions  of  faith  and  our  articles  of  be 
lief.  We  have  held  it  in  superstitious  reverence.  We 
have  been  taught  that  it  would  be  sacrilegious,  and  so 


218  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

dangerous  to  our  eternal  interests,  for  us  to  venture 
to  criticise  this  story.  And  so  we  have  given  it  little 
rational  study.  Possibly  it  may  be  excusable  in  us  to 
investigate  the  story  and  the  claims  set  up  for  it  with 
a  little  more  care  than  we  have  been  doing.  If  it  is 
found  to  be  rational  and  profitable,  it  will  thus  be 
come  of  greater  value  for  us.  If  it  is  in  any  manner 
irrational,  then  we  cannot  afford  either  to  believe  it 
ourselves  or  to  attribute  its  authority  to  God.  Such 
a  study  must  not  be  in  the  spirit  of  impious  denuncia 
tion;  nor  yet  of  superstitious  veneration.  We  must 
sincerely  seek  to  understand  the  rational  value  of  this 
Garden  story. 

"Laying  prejudice  aside,  we  must  concede  that  this 
story  is  not  in  harmony  with  modern  knowledge  of 
the  orderly  forces  of  nature  as  they  are  manifest  in 
the  process  of  creation.  If  the  plot  of  the  story  were 
to  be  recast  so  that  it  might  harmonize  with  the  ac 
cepted  science  of  evolution  it  would  become  a  new 
story.  For  the  story  of  the  Garden  and  the  story  of 
science  cannot  be  tortured  into  harmony  of  interpre 
tation.  But  this  point  we  do  not  wish  to  enlarge 
upon.  It  is  mentioned  merely  to  show  that  the  story 
of  the  Garden  cannot  be  rationally  estimated  as  an 
inerrant  transcript  of  inspiration.  And  so  our  most 
reverent  acceptance  of  it  as  such  can  determine 
neither  the  fact  of  our  moral  righteousness  nor  of  our 
religious  fidelity. 


THE  HEBETIC  219 

"  'By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them'  is  the  New 
Testament  rule  of  judgment.  Under  the  terms  of  this 
rule  we  may  estimate  the  value  of  each  human  insti 
tution  according  to  the  measure  and  quality  of  its  ap 
plied  force  or  influence.  Because  Caesar  and  Caesar- 
ism  have  not  heen  of  value  to  human  society  we  judge 
that  it  were  better  to  abandon  them.  If  Jesus  and  his 
religion  have  been  of  value  then  we  may  estimate 
them  as  worthy  of  approval  and  perpetuation.  Has 
the  theology  which  represents  the  story  of  Eden  ac 
tually  accomplished  good  results  for  humanity?  Has 
it  done  for  man  all  which  his  welfare  has  required? 
In  answer  we  are  compelled  to  admit  that  it  has  sig 
nally  failed  to  meet  the  issues  raised  in  the  facts  of 
social  deformity.  Nor  has  it  kept  up  to  the  line  of  the 
ideal  concept  of  human  achievement.  It  has  been 
weighed  in  the  balance,  and  it  is  found  to  be  wanting. 

"And  so  the  Christian  of  to-day  cannot  be  satisfied 
with  the  superstitious  religion  of  creed  and  ceremony 
of  the  past.  He  asks  for  a  living  religion.  He  wants 
a  Christlike  Christianity.  And  such  a  religion  has 
not  been  found  in  association  with  the  story  of  the 
Garden. 

"But  the  God  of  the  Garden  story  is  not  the  God  of 
whom  Jesus  told  us  during  his  ministry  in  Palestine. 
From  Eden  comes  the  story  of  an  angry  and  vengeful 
God.  From  Galilee  we  hear  the  story  of  a  Father  who 
will  not  break  the  bruised  reed;  whose  heart  follows 


220  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

the  prodigal  son  with  the  prayer  of  affection,  and 
never  with  a  curse  or  a  threat. 

"And  here  we  meet  two  distinct  types  of  religion. 
We  cannot  indorse  them  both.  In  genius  they  are  re 
pellent  and  not  homogeneous.  One  of  them  has  been 
given  a  test  of  four  thousand  years.  And  it  has  not 
been  a  success.  Its  history  is  a  tragedy  of  failure. 
It  has  told  man  only  of  an  angry  God  who  holds  over 
him  the  menace  of  an  eternal  threat.  This  of  neces 
sity  has  taught  him  either  to  hate  or  to  fear  God.  And 
surely  neither  one  of  tLese  emotions  can  refine  human 
lives.  It  has  told  all  human  beings  that  they  are  vile 
and  worthless  rebels;  sinners  who  are  fit  only  to  asso 
ciate  with  devils  in  hell.  There  is  no  more  positive 
way  for  training  the  child  into  a  life  of  sin  than  to 
constantly  tell  him  how  very  vile  he  is.  Under  such 
religious  influences  it  is  not  strange  that  sin  has  not 
been  erased  and  society  purified.  The  only  wonder 
is  that  the  beneficent  forces  of  nature  have  been  able, 
in  spite  of  such  adverse  influences,  to  keep  our  race 
in  the  ordained  pathway  of  its  ever-increasing  excel 
lency. 

"Why,  then,  shall  we  not  turn  away  from  this  dread 
ful  tragedy  and  seek  to  usher  in  among  men  the  reli 
gion  of  the  loving  son  of  a  loving  God?  Superstition 
has  already  ruled  the  thought  of  the  world  too  long. 
It  is  but  natural  that  in  its  far-away  beginnings 
human  thought  should  have  been  largely,  and  possi- 


THE  HERETIC  221 

bly  wholly,  superstitious.  In  the  light  of  modem 
knowledge  we  have  no  right  to  assume  that  our  race 
was  initiated  into  this  world  in  possession  of  its  high 
est  possible  measure  of  attainment.  And  so  we  can 
not  regard  mankind  at  the  present  day  as  the  de 
praved  offspring  of  initial  ancestors  who  were  physic 
ally  and  mentally  and  morally  perfect  beings,  who 
afterward  fell  from  such  heights  of  quality,  into  such 
depths  of  depravity,  as  to  fasten  the  hereditary  guilt 
of  hopeless  and  damning  sin  upon  each  soul  of  the 
oncoming  generations  of  their  offspring.  But  we  are 
rather  to  consider  humanity  as  slowly  but  surely  ad 
vancing  along  an  ever  upward  pathway.  And  this  is 
leading  man  away  from  the  lower  conditions  of  his 
primitive  estate  and  into  such  possibilities  as  we  at 
present  may  not  be  able  to  foretell. 

"And  so  in  his  primal  weakness  and  ignorance  it  is 
but  natural  that  man's  concepts  should  have  been 
superstitional  in  quality.  They  must  have  been  so. 
He  could  not  have  grasped  the  sublime  facts  which 
nature  is  revealing  to  men  to-day.  He  could  not  un 
derstand  nature.  And  so  he  invented  for  himself  the 
supernatural.  He  planted  a  superhuman  God  on  a 
supernatural  throne  as  master  and  monarch  among 
the  forces  which  he  felt,  and  which  to  him  appeared 
to  be  in  antagonism  among  themselves. 

"And  this  supernatural  God,  invested  with  super 
natural  power  and  authority,  was  for  him  a  satis- 


222  THE     LARGEK     FAITH 

factory  explanation  of  the  varied  phenomena  by  which 
he  found  himself  surrounded.  Such  a  being  of  course 
might  exercise  rightful  authority  over  man.  It  was 
his  right  to  command.  And  it  was  man's  duty  to 
obey.  In  case  of  man's  disobedience  then  God  must 
be  angry.  And  then  it  became  his  rightful  duty  to 
punish  the  wrongdoer.  It  was  also  his  privilege  to 
determine  upon  what  terms  and  conditions  such  pun 
ishment  might  be  withheld.  And  so  God  came  to  be 
regarded  as  the  inventor  of  certain  forms  of  penance 
and  sacrifice  and  sacramental  ritualism,  in  the  observ 
ance  of  which  man  was  to  be  released  from  the  pun 
ishment  which  sin  merited.  All  this  constituted 
man's  primary  religion.  It  was  also  unnatural  and 
unauthorized  superstition.  And  so  all  our  stock  of 
knowledge  and  religion  reaches  us  through  lineal 
descent  from  man's  primal  superstitions. 

"In  matters  of  knowledge  we  have  laid  aside  these 
earlier  misconceptions  as  we  have  come  into  the 
higher  concepts  of  the  sublime  unities  of  nature.  But 
in  matters  of  religion  we  refuse  to  surrender  the  old 
superstitions.  We  deny  our  right  to  do  so  upon  the 
ground  that  they  are  direct  gifts  from  God  himself, 
and  so  not  to  be  regarded  as  of  less  sanctity  than  God 
himself,  who  is  their  author  and  giver.  And  so  in  all 
churches  we  find  emphasis  still  laid  upon  the  observ 
ance  of  certain  ceremonials.  And  in  such  observance 
we  are  taught  to  expect  to  escape  the  otherwise  in- 


THE  HERETIC  223 

flicted  punishments  of  God.  Now,  this  religious  su 
perstition  has  come  naturally  into  human  experience. 
It  has  observed  a  natural  place  and  order  in  the  evolu 
tion  of  religion.  But  all  observant,  thoughtful  and 
sincere  religionists  are  coming  to  ask  if  all  this  crud 
ity  or  superstition  may  not  now  be  eliminated  from 
religion  to  its  own  advantage. 

"If  this  may  be  done  it  will  of  necessity  reduce  re 
ligion  to  the  very  simple  terms  under  which  it  was 
taught  and  exemplified  by  Jesus.  However  natural 
religious  superstition  may  have  been  in  the  past,  it 
is  distinctly  unnatural  to-day.  However  helpful  it 
may  have  been,  its  usefulness  seems  to  be  now  wholly 
outgrown.  For  at  the  present  time  it  is  not  serving 
to  make  men  wiser.  Nor  is  it  making  them  better. 
All  which  may  be  claimed  for  the  superstitions  of 
theology  is  the  possible  fact  that  they  may  not  be 
making  men  and  society  the  worse,  and  even  this 
claim  may  be  doubted. 

"When  we  consider  the  vast  volume  of  existing 
moral  depravity  and  social  corruption  and  personal 
suffering  which  prevail  in  the  very  midst  of  Chris 
tian  civilization,  and  when  we  observe  the  immense 
expenditure  of  religious  energy  which  fails  to  correct 
such  evils,  then  we  must  become  entirely  dissatisfied 
with  this  inert  and  fruitless  quality  of  religion.  We 
want  something  having  aggressive  value  against 
wrong.  We  want  a  religion  of  positive  force  for  good. 


224  THE     LAEGEE     FAITH 

We  want  an  objective  religion.  We  *want  a  religion 
whose  altars  of  worship  are  in  the  temple  and  in  the 
home,  and  in  the  office,  and  in  the  school,  and  in  the 
halls  of  legislation,  and  in  the  courts  of  civil  proced 
ure. 

"And  this  is  the  very  kind  of  religion  which  Jesus 
undertook  to  teach  the  world  two  thousand  years  ago. 
But  the  world  has  been  a  dull  pupil.  We  have  not 
yet  learned  the  truth  of  the  fatherhood  of  God  and 
the  universal  brotherhood  of  man.  Shall  we  not  then 
join  our  humble  efforts  with  an  experiment  which 
seems  about  to  be  undertaken?  This  is  the  experi 
ment  of  superseding  the  old  religion  of  superstition 
and  creed  and  fear  with  the  religion  of  love  and 
brotherly  service.  If  we  will  at  last  make  operative 
the  simple  but  lofty  religion  of  the  Nazarene  we  may 
accomplish  such  results  of  human  regeneration  as  the 
old  religion  of  superstition  is  not  qualified  even  to 
undertake. 

"Jesus  is  understood  to  have  led  a  life  of  lowly 
purity.  If  we  might  find  an  unprejudiced  account 
of  his  teachings  we  might  also  learn  that  the  ancient 
wise  men  of  the  east  and  the  modern  wise  men  of  the 
west  may  alike  come  to  him  to  learn  the  solution  of 
the  problem  of  human  regeneration.  For  his  was  the 
soul — the  message,  the  mission  of  the  idealist.  And 
in  his  lofty  thought  he  foresaw  humanity  saved  with 
a  near-at-hand  salvation — a  real  and  practical  salva- 


THE   HERETIC  225 

tion.  No  future  heaven  can  ever  quite  compensate  ua 
for  our  experiences  in  an  earthly  hell.  We  need  an 
earthly  paradise  as  surely  as  a  heavenly  home.  And 
in  his  vision  he  saw  them  both.  And  so  his  was  a 
message  of  love.  Love  was  the  keynote  around  which 
and  in  unison  with  which  he  sang  his  wonderful  songs 
of  mortal  and  immortal  hope.  He  is  said  to  have 
lifted  the  curtain  that  John  might  peer  into  the  fu 
ture.  And  there  he  saw  no  God  of  anger.  He  saw 
no  prison  hell.  He  saw  no  hopeless  prodigals  cast  out 
from  a  father's  heart  and  home.  But  he  saw  a  God 
of  love.  And  through  the  ever  open  and  welcoming 
doors  of  his  home  came  pouring  in  all  his  children. 
They  came  from  every  world,  and  nation,  and  kin 
dred  and  tribe.  And  every  knee  bowed  down  before 
the  loving  Father  of  them  all.  And  they  sang  one 
song. 

"But  his  ear  had  already  caught  a  prelude  to  this 
anthem  of  the  angels.  He  had  already  seen  another 
vision.  And  this  had  been  a  vision  of  mortal  men. 
And  they  were  a  band  of  universal  brothers.  For 
they  had  learned  at  last  that  all  men  are  of  one  blood. 
And  so  they  dwelt  in  the  peace  of  love  in  all  the 
earth.  They  lived  together.  The  competition  and 
jealousy  and  the  greed  of  commerce  did  not  separate 
them.  Some  did  not  feed  in  luxury  while  others 
starved.  Some  did  not  array  themselves  in  fine  ap 
parel  while  others  perished  in  their  rags.  Some  were 


THE     LARGER     FAITH 

not  slain  in  battle  that  conquerors  might  possess  their 
homes.  And  so  the  glory  of  humanity  in  the  earth 
was  as  the  glory  of  the  angels  in  heaven. 

"Such  is  the  salvation  which  the  religion  of  Jesus 
promises  to  our  race.  And  there  is  not  a  single  com 
munity  in  any  land  where  such  a  salvation  is  not  at 
present  needed.  We  need  it  here  in  our  city.  It  is 
needed  in  our  homes  and  in  our  offices,  and  in  our 
stores — our  private  and  our  official  citizens  need  it. 
And  must  we  not  also  confess  that  our  churches  need 
it  most  of  all? 

"Such  is  the  only  religion  wlr'ch  men  really  do 
need  to-day.  It  is  the  only  religion  which  is  worth 
the  having.  Our  hungry  world  has  starved  too  long 
on  a  diet  of  theological  stones.  And  as  His  children 
have  prayed  for  an  egg — that  miracle  of  potential 
life — has  the  heavenly  Father  given  them  only  the 
scorpion,  that  symbol  of  stinging  theological  death? 
Shall  we  not  then  in  His  name  seek  out  for  men  the 
bread  of  eternal  life?  And  must  not  this  bread  of 
life  feed  every  hungry  mortal  man?  Would  we  save 
the  perishing?  Then  in  most  cases  let  us  heed  the 
couplet: 

"  'Send  not  the  priest  with  sacrament  and  prayers, 
But  send  the  baker  with  his  saving  wares.' 

"This  religion  of  love  and  brotherhood  implies 
plenty  and  peace  among  all  men.  Plenty  of  work  for 
all  and  plenty  of  rest  for  each  one. 


THE   HEEETIC  227 

"Such  is  the  ideal  religion  of  Jesus.  But  we  have 
come  far  short  of  its  realization.  And  this  not  be 
cause  it  is  impracticable,  but  only  because  supersti 
tion  has  stifled  the  ideal. 

"The  idealist  is  the  world's  only  savior.  Supersti 
tion  cries  out  against  life.  Life  means  force  and  ad 
vancement.  It  means  the  reaching  after  better  re 
sults.  Superstition  forbids  progress.  It  demands 
preservation  of  the  existing  order  of  things.  It  chains 
the  living  man  to  a  dead  body.  But  he  cries  out  'Oh, 
wretched  man  that  I  am!  Who  will  deliver  me  from 
the  body  of  this  death?' 

"Superstition  cannot  do  this.  It  cannot  give  life  its 
freedom.  It  has  fostered  heartless  and  unbrotherly 
selfishness  among  men.  It  has  created  the  fatal  in 
justice  of  competition  and  greed  as  the  genius  of  hu 
man  society.  And  now  it  says  that  the  existing  order 
of  things  cannot  be  changed.  That  it  ought  not  to 
be  changed.  It  says  that  men  ought  not  to  ask  that 
it  be  changed.  They  should  submit;  they  should  en 
dure  without  complaint,  for  such  is  the  duty  of  God's 
people,  to  bow  to  his  will  without  repining. 

"But  the  idealist  calls  the  sleeper  to  awake,  and  the 
dead  to  come  forth  to  life.  In  the  overthrow  of  super 
stition  he  promises  the  salvation  of  love.  Then  why 
shall  we  not  echo  the  cry  of  the  divine  idealist?  And 
they  who  profess  to  worship  Jesus,  why  shall  they 


228  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

not  obey  and  imitate  him?  It  was  he  who  proclaimed 
against  the  superstitions  handed  down  to  us  from  the 
Garden  of  Eden.  He  held  up  before  all  men  the  truth 
that  love  is  the  fulfillment  of  the  law;  that  man  owes 
no  duty  which  is  not  fulfilled  in  love.  The  life  of 
love  cannot  bow  down  low  enough  to  come  into  touch 
with  the  deadly  ceremonies  of  superstition.  Love 
alone  fulfills  the  law.  For  there  is  but  one  law.  And 
love  is  that  law.  Scientists  and  religionists  alike 
sometimes  refer  to  laws  and  forces.  But  in  correct 
thinking  only  one  force  can  be  recognized.  The  law 
of  geology  is  a  part  of  the  law  of  astronomy.  There 
are  no  several  laws  nor  forces  of  light,  and  heat,  and 
chemistry,  and  electricity,  and  gravity,  and  cohesion, 
and  repulsion,  and  centripetality,  and  centrifugality, 
nor  of  body,  and  of  mind,  and  of  spirit,  nor  of  morals 
and  religion.  These  are  but  so  many  expressions  of 
one  centric  law  or  force  which  involves  them  all 
equally.  This  implies  absolute  affinity,  unity  and 
oneness  between  all  items  of  nature.  No  two  expres 
sions  in  nature  can  be  in  fundamental  disagreement. 
And  this  universal  affinity  and  harmony  constitute 
love.  When  our  lives  internally  and  externally  are  in 
unison  with  every  natural  expression  of  this  one  force 
and  law  of  the  universe,  then  we  are  living  true  lives 
of  love.  And  short  of  this  we  are  not  fulfilling  the 
law  of  God. 

"This  law  of  love  is  natural.     It  is  in  no  sense 


THE  HEEETIC  229 

supernatural.  Indeed,  it  is  the  only  verity  which  is 
natural.  Any  variation  from  it  is  unnatural  and  ab 
normal.  This  law  is  also  very  simple.  It  may  be 
easily  recognized.  Its  implied  obligation,  as  affect 
ing  the  individual,  is  to  love  self.  Then  to  love  the 
fellow-man.  And  also  to  love  God.  Here  is  the  sub 
stance  of  the  religion  of  Jesus:  'Thou  shalt  love  the 
Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  might,  mind  and  strength, 
and  thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself.'  On  these 
equal  commandments  hangs  all  the  law.  But  here 
comes  the  old  question:  How  can  man  love  God 
whom  he  hath  not  seen?  Whom  no  man  can  see  and 
live?  For  it  is  a  law  of  the  emotion  of  love  that  it 
must  find  both  expression  and  response.  Hand  must 
touch  hand.  Eye  must  look  into  the  depth  of  eye. 
Love  must  sing  its  song  of  the  heart  to  the  heart. 
How  then  are  we  able  to  love  an  inaccessible  God? 
Superstition  has  said  that  its  God  is  supernatural  and 
inaccessible.  But  the  religion  of  love  knows  nothing 
of  such  a  God.  Its  God  must  be  both  natural  and  dis 
coverable.  Throughout  organized  space  there  can 
be  no  more  than  one  fundamental  force.  And  this 
one  force  must  be  vitalized  unity,  or  living  love. 
Nothing  exists  or  is  manifest  apart  from  it.  And  in 
it  we  discover  God.  And  so  when  we  put  ourselves 
into  peaceful  relation  with  any  known  order  of  na 
ture  we  are  loving  God.  Among  the  visible  expres 
sions  of  nature  we  come  into  no  such  measure  of  in- 


330  THE     LABGBR     FAITH 

timate  association  as  with  our  fellow-men.  And  so 
Jesus  teaches  us  that  our  love  of  our  fellow-men  is  our 
highest  expression  of  our  love  of  God.  All  this  shows 
us  that  we  and  all  men  are  fundamentally  parts  of 
God.  We  are  to  love  ourselves  and  keep  in  unison 
with  nature  because  we  are  natural  parts  of  God.  And 
our  neighbors  are  also  parts  of  God.  They  are  also 
part  of  ourselves.  They,  with  us,  are  associate  mem 
bers  of  one  body,  even  God.  In  loving  them  we  ex 
press  self-love  and  appreciation.  This  is  nature's  law 
requiring  that  we  love  our  neighbors  as  we  love  our 
selves.  And  that  such  conduct  as  we  desire  from  oth 
ers  we  should  accord  to  them. 

"If  society  were  to  make  this  law  of  love  operative 
the  vision  of  the  idealist  would  be  realized.  As  the 
superstitions  and  traditions  of  the  religion  descended 
from  the  Garden  of  Eden  will  not  allow  men  seriously 
to  undertake  to  realize  this  religion  of  Jesus,  it  there 
fore  becomes  the  duty  of  every  real  Christian  to  elim 
inate  the  last  vestige  of  superstition  from  his  thought. 
By  coming  out  of  the  bondage  of  superstition  we  may 
come  into  the  freedom  of  a  larger  faith.  Into  a  larger 
measure  of  the  richer  faith  that  saves  with  the  power 
of  a  present  salvation.  Into  a  faith  which  reveals  to 
us  a  grander  God. 

"Such  a  faith  makes  us  one  with  an  ever-present  in 
dwelling  and  overshadowing  God.  It  will  lay  beside 
each  aching  heart  another  holy  heart  through  which 


THE   HEKETIC  231 

is  flowing  a  tide  of  tender,  loving  sympathy.  It  is  a 
faith  which  looks  not  out  across  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death  to  find  an  eternal  heaven.  For  its 
love  builds  its  own  heaven  here  in  this  world  among 
God's  own  children.  This  is  a  faith  that  sees  God  in 
every  sun  and  world,  in  every  mountain  and  raindrop, 
in  every  bird  and  flower.  And  because  his  God  'is  all 
and  in  all'  the  man  of  such  a  faith  sees  in  each  lower 
order  of  being  a  kindred  atom  in  the  universal  or 
ganism.  He  cannot  be  unkind  even  to  his  dumb 
brothers.  He  also  sees  God  in  every  man.  Not  one 
is  so  near  or  so  far  away,  so  weak  or  so  strong,  so  pure 
or  so  deformed,  but  he  realizes  in  him  the  kindred  tie 
of  brotherhood. 

"Oh,  that  we  might  come  into  such  a  faith  as  thisl 
In  our  reaching  out  after  it  we  may  well  afford  to 
turn  aside  from  conventional  sacraments  of  supersti 
tion.  No  baptismal  water  is  so  holy,  nor  any  sacra 
mental  wine  so  sacred,  as  is  the  love  which  recognizes 
all  men  in  natural  and  equal  brotherhood.  Let  us 
then  choose  as  the  captain  of  our  salvation  Him  who 
has  taught  the  fatherhood  of  God  and  the  brother 
hood  of  man.  For  of  His  teaching  the  prophecy  is  at 
last  fulfilled:  'The  darkness  is  passed,  and  the  light 
of  truth  now  shineth.'  And  this  word  of  light  de 
clares:  'He  that  loveth  not  his  brother  abideth  in 
death.'  Therefore,  'let  us  not  love  in  word,  but  in 
deed  and  truth/  For  'God  is  love,  and  he  that  dwell- 


232  THE     LAEGEE     FAITH 

eth  in  love,  dwelleth  in  God,  and  God  in  him/  'If 
we  love  one  another,  God  dwelleth  in  us,  and  His  love 
is  perfected  in  us/  " 

At  the  close  of  his  sermon  Mr.  Winter  said: 
"And  now,  my  friends,  a  word  of  personal  explana 
tion  is  expected  from  me,  and  I  will  say  here  all  that 
I  expect  ever  to  say  on  this  subject. 

"For  twenty-five  years  I  was  a  minister  of  the 
Presbyterian  church.  I  withdrew  from  the  ministry 
and  from  membership  in  that  church,  and  a  decent 
regard  for  the  opinion  of  those  who  have  known  me 
impels  me  to  state  briefly  my  reasons  for  adopting  the 
course  I  have  taken.  Besides,  I  want  no  misappre 
hension  or  misunderstanding  concerning  this  mat 
ter.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing  for  me  to  do,  to  sever 
the  relations  of  a  lifetime.  I  was  brought  up  in  the 
Presbyterian  church.  My  relatives  are  members  of 
it,  some  of  them  in  the  ministry.  Toward  the  mem 
bers  of  that  church,  its  ministry  and  the  church  itself, 
I  have  none  but  the  kindliest  and  most  friendly  feel 
ings.  There  is  not  in  my  heart  a  single  hostile  feel 
ing  toward  that  or  any  other  denomination.  They 
are  all  doing  good,  and  I  believe  they  are  all  doing 
right  as  they  see  the  right.  But  I  felt  impelled  to 
withdraw  from  the  Presbyterian  church  because  the 
creed  of  the  church,  the  dogmas,  the  articles  of  faith, 
were  in  my  judgment  hampering  and  hindering  and 
overshadowing  the  cause  of  religion.  I  could  not 


THE  HERETIC  233 

consistently  join  any  other  church,  for  the  same  ob 
jection  presented  itself  against  any  of  the  orthodox 
churches.  If  you  ask  me  if  I  am  no  longer  orthodox 
I  must  answer  frankly,  I  am  not.  I  believe  that  all 
religion  is  one,  for  religion  is  the  spirit  of  God  in 
man — the  conscious  knowledge  of  man's  relationship 
to  God. 

"You  ask  why  I  did  not  take  this  step  before?  The 
question  is  a  pertinent  one.  I  have  always  tried  to  do 
my  duty  as  it  was  given  me  to  see  my  duty.  Last  year 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life  my  health  gave  way.  My 
physician  ordered  absolute  rest  and  advised  me  to 
spend  a  few  months  in  an  arid  climate.  Through  a 
friend  I  secured  board  with  a  ranchman  in  New 
Mexico.  There,  in  a  log  cabin,  twenty  miles  from  a 
postoffice,  I  found  a  man  from  whom  in  a  few  months 
I  learned  more  of  mankind,  of  religion,  of  God,  than 
I  had  before  known.  Unconventional,  unassuming, 
simple,  direct,  without  pretending  to  instruct,  this 
western  ranchman  brushed  aside  the  undergrowth  of 
orthodoxy  and  showed  me  what,  when  I  asked  him  to 
name  it,  he  designated  the  larger  faith.  Hereafter, 
unhampered,  undeterred,  with  malice  toward  none, 
with  charity  for  all,  I  mean  to  preach  that  larger 
faith,  the  underlying  principle  of  which  is  love." 

After  Mr.  Winter  had  ceased  speaking  the  chair 
man  of  the  committee  that  had  engaged  the  audito 
rium  made  a  short  statement.  He  said  it  had  been 


234  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

decided  to  continue  the  meetings  just  as  long  as  the 
necessary  expenses  were  raised  by  purely  voluntary 
contributions;  that  a  box  was  placed  near  the  door 
into  which  those  who  wished  to  give  something  from 
time  to  time  might  deposit  their  contributions,  but 
that  no  collections  would  be  taken  up  at  meetings. 
He  further  said  that  he  had  a  subscription  paper  on 
which  any  persons  who  wished  to  do  so  might,  after 
the  dismissal  of  the  meeting,  subscribe  whatever  they 
felt  like  giving  for  the  first  year.  When  the  congre-. 
gation  had  been  dismissed  one  of  the  first  men  to  put 
his  name  on  the  subscription  list  was  DarreU's  ultra- 
conservative  friend,  North,  and  opposite  his  name  he 
wrote  $100. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  DISCOVEBT. 

On  one  of  Darrell's  visits  to  E ,  some  time  after 

his  engagement  to  Maude  Briggs  had  become  known 
to  their  immediate  friends,  she  asked  him  to  go  with 
her  and  call  on  the  family  of  Uncle  Dr.  Roberts,  and 
Darrell,  though  reluctant  to  be  thus  put  on  exhibi 
tion  before  Maude's  relatives,  could  do  nothing  but 
go.  He  found,  however,  that  both  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Rob 
erts  were  pleasant  people  to  meet.  ISTo  reference  to 
the  engagement  of  the  young  people  was  made  till 
they  were  about  to  leave,  when  the  doctor,  intimating 
that  he  understood  Darrell  was  to  become  a  rela'.ive, 
invited  him  and  Maude  to  come  and  take  dinner  with 
them  the  next  time  Darrell  should  be  in  town,  add 
ing:  "Our  daughter,  Corinne,  will  likely  be  at  home 
then,  and  she  will  wish  to  meet  you."  The  invitation 
was  accepted,  it  being  understood  that  Maude  would 
inform  her  aunt  when  Darrell  would  next  be  in  the 
city. 

"That  is  the  cousin  Corinne  I've  heard  you  speak 
of?"  said  Darrell  on  the  way  home. 


236  THE     LAEGEK     FAITH 

"Yes,"  replied  Maude,  "and  I  must  warn  you 
against  her  in  advance." 

"How's  that?"  asked  Darrell. 

"Oh,  she  can  play  and  sing  and  do  everything  else 
so  much  better  than  I  can  that  I'm  afraid  you'll  fall 
in  love  with  her." 

"I'll  risk  that,  my  dear,"  replied  Darrell. 

Nevertheless,  when,  a  few  weeks  later,  Darrell  and 
Maude  went  to  take  dinner  with  the  Roberts  family, 
Darrell  found  Corinne  Eoberts  a  very  charming 
woman.  She  was  older  than  Maude,  and  though  Dar 
rell  did  not  fall  in  love  with  her  he  felt  proud  that  he 
was  soon  to  have  such  a  woman  for  a  cousin.  Darrell, 
who  was  a  close  observer  of  people,  noticed  that  while 
there  was  nothing  about  Corinne's  manner  which  in 
dicated  a  desire  on  her  part  to  dictate,  or  even  to  lead, 
those  around  her  seemed  naturally  to  defer  to  her  and 
to  regard  her  opinion  as  final. 

Before  dinner,  the  doctor  not  having  arrived,  and 
while  Mrs.  Eoberts  and  Corinne  were  absent  from  the 
parlor,  Darrell  began  idly  turning  over  the  pages  of 
a  large  album.  There  were  photographs  of  the  Rob 
erts  and  Briggs  families,  besides  many  persons  whom 
Darrell  did  not  know.  Maude  designated  by  name 
many  of  the  photographs,  schoolmates  of  Corinne  and 
others. 

"Who  is  this?"  asked  Darrell,  coming  to  a  three* 
quarter  profile  view  of  a  full-bearded  man  apparently 


A     DIBCOVEBY  237 

about  his  own  age.  "Seems  to  me  I've  seen  him 
somewhere." 

"That's  a  Mr.  Horton,  an  editor  who  used  to  be 
here.  He's  dead."  Then  as  Corinne  entered  the 
room  while  Darrell  was  still  gazing  at  the  picture 
Maude  added  in  a  low  voice:  "Say  nothing  about 
him.  Turn  on." 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  Darrell  asked  Corinne 
to  favor  them  with  some  music.  When  he  had  heard 
Corinne  play  he  understood  Maude's  statement  that 
what  she  knew  about  music  she  had  learned  from 
Corinne.  When  later  the  two  cousins  sang  together, 
Corinne  sang  the  soprano  and  Maude  the  alto  parts. 
Darrell  was  too  much  in  love  to  feel  jealous  of  any 
one's  playing  or  singing,  but  he  had  to  acknowledge 
to  himself  that  what  Maude  had  told  him  of  Corinne's 
ability  as  a  musician  was  true. 

As  Darrell  and  Maude  walked  slowly  toward  her 
home,  after  having  taken  leave  of  the  Eoberts  family, 
his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  picture  he  had  seen  in 
the  album.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  faced  around 
toward  Maude  and  grasped  her  arm.  "What's  the 
matter?"  asked  Maude.  "Did  you  forget  something 
at  Uncle's?" 

"That  picture,"  said  Darrell,  "that  you  said  was  of 
an  editor — Horton.  Did  you  say  he's  dead?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Maude.  "At  least  everybody  but 
Corinne  thinks  he's  dead.  Why?" 


THE     LAEGER     FAITH 

"Tell  me  all  yon  know  abont  him,"  said  Barrel!, 
disregarding  her  question.  "How  is  it  some  people 
think  he's  dead  and  Corinne  thinks  otherwise?" 

"It's  rather  a  long  story/'  said  Maude,  "and  a  sad 
one  for  all  of  us.  This  Mr.  Horton  and  Corinne  were 
engaged  to  be  married.  Their  wedding  day  was  set 
nearly  seven  years  ago — it  will  be  seven  years  in  May. 
I  was  a  little  girl  then.  You've  heard  me  speak  of  my 
brother  Tom  that  was  drowned?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Darrell. 

"It  was  then,"  said  Maude;  "just  a  few  days  before 
Corinne  was  to  be  married  she  went  out  on  the  lake 
fishing  with  Tom  one  afternoon.  Tom  was  a  good 
boatman,  but  he  didn't  get  the  boat  that  day  that  he 
had  been  used  to.  Just  when  they  were  going  to  start 
home  Corinne  caught  a  very  big  fish.  They  got  it  in 
the  boat,  but  it  flopped  out,  and  Tom,  in  grabbing  at 
it,  upset  the  boat.  They  could  both  swim,  but  Tom 
was  drowned — he  had  on  a  pair  of  rubber  boots. 
Corinne  got  hold  of  an  oar  or  something  and  kept 
afloat  a  little  while.  Then  a  steamer  picked  her  up. 
It  was  just  starting  from  here  to  Cheboygan,  Mich., 
and  the  captain  wouldn't  turn  back.  The  body  of 
brother  Tom 'was  washed  ashore  a  day  or  two  later. 
They  wouldn't  let  me  see  him."  And,  overcome  by 
the  emotion  which  the  recital  of  the  story  awakened, 
Maude  began  using  her  handkerchief  and  crying 
quietly. 


*    DISCOVEKY  239 

"Well?"  said  Darrell,  gently,  after  waiting  a  lit 
tle  time. 

"They  found  the  boat  they'd  been  in  turned  upside 
down,"  continued  Maude.  "It  was  nearly  a  week  be 
fore  they  heard  from  Corinne.  She  came  home  after 
ward  on  the  cars." 

"But  about  Horton,"  said  Darrell.  "What  became 
of  him?" 

"He  walked  along  the  lake  shore  for  two  or  three 
days,"  said  Maude,  "till  after  Tom's  body  came  in. 
Then  he  went  to  Aunt  Mary,  kissed  her  good-by,  and 
nobody  has  seen  him  since.  They  all  think  he 
drowned  himself — all  but  Corinne/' 

"And  what  does  Corinne  think?"  asked  Darrell. 

"Oh,  Corinne  feels  just  as  sure  that  he'll  come  back 
as  that  she's  alive,"  answered  Maude.  "Jt  makes  me 
feel  a  little  creepy  sometimes  to  hear  her  talk  of 
Frank.  Of  course  she's  perfectly  sane — on  every 
other  subject,  anyway — but  everybody  else  knows 
that  Frank  Horton  is  dead,  for  they  tried  every  way 
to  find  him.  One  man,  a  railroad  conductor,  was  sure 
he  had  gone  to  Cincinnati,  but  he  said  Mr.  Horton 
rode  on  a  pass,  and  he  had  nothing  to  go  on,  only  that 
he  had  noted  that  pass  number  on  that  day.  But  there 
were  lots  of  people  in  Cincinnati  that  Mr.  Horton 
knew  and  that  knew  him,  and  none  of  them  had  seen 
him." 


240  THE     LARGEE    FAITH 

"What  is  there  about  Corinne's  talk  that  makes  you 
feel  creepy?"  asked  Darrell. 

"Oh,  lots  of  things/'  replied  Maude.  "She  said  to 
me  once:  'Frank  was  in  trouble  for  a  long  time  after 
he  went  away,  but  he's  not  in  trouble  any  more.'  I 
thought  to  myself,  No,  because  he's  dead,  but  I  asked 
Corinne  what  made  her  think  such  things,  and  she 
said:  'I  don't  think  them;  I  know  them.'  I  asked 
her  how  she  knew  them,  and  she  said:  'I  know  them 
because  I  love  him.'  Not  long  ago  she  sang  the  old 
Scotch  song,  'We'd  Better  Bide  a  Wee,'  and  when 
she  had  finished  it  remarked  that  Frank  always  liked 
that  song  and  she  wanted  to  keep  in  practice  till  he 
returned.  Poor  Corinne!  I'm  sorry  for  her." 

"But  if  she  is  so  cheerful  about  it,  why  did  you  tell 
me  to  say  nothing  of  this  Mr.  Horton  this  evening?" 
asked  Darrell. 

"Because  Corinne  always  speaks  of  him  as  some 
one  who  is  absent  just  for  the  time  being,  and  it 
makes  Uncle  Doctor  and  Aunt  Mary  and  all  of  us 
feel  creepy,"  replied  Maude. 

They  had  resumed  their  walk  as  they  talked.  After 
a  pause  Darrell  asked:  "Maude,  can  you  keep  a  se 
cret?" 

"Of  course  I  can,"  answered  Maude,  indignantly. 
"What  about?" 

"Well,"  replied  Darrell,  "I  hardly  know  just  what 
to  do  yet,  but  Corinne  is  right.  I've  seen  Horton — or 


A    DISCOVEKT  241 

his  twin  brother.  I  don't  see  how  I  could  have  failed 
to  recognize  the  picture  at  once.  I  guess  it  was  your 
statement  that  he  was  dead  that  threw  me  off." 

"Where  have  you  seen  him,,  and  when?"  demanded 
Maude,  in  her  turn  stopping  and  facing  toward  Dar- 
rell. 

"That's  the  picture  of  William  Young,  the  ranch 
man  in  New  Mexico,"  replied  Darrell.  "Only  when 
I  saw  him  he  didn't  wear  a  full  beard." 

"Do  you  really  think  so,  John  ?"  inquired  Maude. 

"I  can't  be  mistaken,"  said  Darrell.  "I  ought  to 
know  that  face  and  head  anywhere." 

"Oh,  let's  go  and  tell  Corinne!"  exclaimed  Maude. 

"No,  I  don't  believe  we'd  better  do  that  just  now," 
replied  Darrell.  "I  think  we  ought  to  talk  it  over 
first." 

So  they  held  a  long  family  consultation.  It  was 
the  first  time  they  had  consulted  each  other  on  any 
matter  of  policy  or  of  future  conduct,  and  each  one 
was  highly  pleased  at  the  discernment  and  good  judg 
ment  shown  by  the  other.  It  was  finally  decided  that 
before  saying  anything  to  others  Darrell  should  see 
Young — or  Horton — and  then  decide  on  a  course  of 
action. 

When  Darrell  arrived  at  the  office  a  day  or  two 
later  he  applied  for  a  two  weeks'  leave  of  absence  to  go 
to  New  Mexico.  In  answer  to  a  searching  look  of  in 
quiry  he  said:  "I  have  no  investment  there  and  no 


242  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

intention  of  making  any.  This  is — a  family  mat 
ter." 

"All  right,  Darrell,"  said  the  senior  member  of  the 
firm,  to  whom  the  application  had  been  made.  "We'll 
try  to  spare  you  that  long.  When  do  you  want  to  go?" 

"As  soon  as  I  can/'  answered  Darrell. 

"Well,  start  whenever  you're  ready,"  was  the  re- 

piy. 

The  first  thing  Darrell  did  was  to  send  a  telegram 
to  William  Young,  Tres  Piedras,  New  Mexico,  stat 
ing  when  he  would  arrive  there.  Then  he  made 
hasty  preparations  and  took  the  next  train  for  the 
west. 

All  the  way  out  he  puzzled  over  the  question  how 
to  approach  Young.  If  Young  was  Frank  Horton,  he 
must  have  known  Maude  Briggs  when  she  was  much 
younger  than  now,  but  he  would  probably  deny  it. 
Still,  why  had  he  promised  to  come  to  their  wedding? 
What  if  he  should  prove  to  be  the  wrong  man?  In 
that  case  Darrell  felt  that  his  trip  was  not  only  use 
less,  but  that  he  was  making  a  fool  of  himself.  He 
had  seen  the  picture  but  once,  and  then  but  for  a  few 
moments.  The  nearer  he  got  to  New  Mexico  the 
greater  became  his  doubts  as  to  either  the  usefulness 
or  the  propriety  of  his  errand.  He  resolved  finally  to 
make  some  excuse  for  his  sudden  visit  and  let  mat 
ters  take  their  course. 

Arrived  at  Tres  Piedras,  he  found  Ned  Long  await- 


A    DISCOVEET  243 

ing  him  with  a  dogcart.  Mr.  Young,  Ned  explained, 
had  to  be  away  on  other  business  that  day  or  he  would 
have  come  himself. 

All  Darrell  knew  of  Ned  was  that  Young  had  taken 
some  boy  or  young  man  to  live  with  him.  On  the  way 
out  he  tried  by  questioning  the  young  man  and  at  the 
same  time  appearing  to  be  indifferent,  to  learn  some 
thing  of  Young's  history,  but  Ned,  while  not  at  all 
averse  to  talking  about  Young,  knew  nothing  of  him 
save  what  he  was,  and  it  is  needless  to  say  his  opinion 
on  that  point  was  favorable. 

"Does  Mr.  Young  correspond  with  many  people?" 
asked  Darrell  with  an  inward  blush  at  thus  prying 
into  the  private  affairs  of  his  friend. 

"No,  I  guess  not  very  many,"  replied  Ned.  "I 
never  carried  any  letters  for  him  but  those  addressed 
to  you  and  Mr.  Winter,  that  stayed  with  us  awhile  last 
year." 

They  rode  on  in  silence  till  a  turn  in  the  road 
brought  the  house  in  sight. 

"Ah!"  said  Darrell,  taking  a  long  breath,  "there's 
Young's  ranchl" 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

UNITED. 

Young  was  not  at  home  when  Darrell  and  Ned  got 
to  the  ranch,  but  he  arrived  not  long  afterward,  and 
met  Darrell  with  the  same  quiet  cordiality  which  he 
had  shown  when  they  parted  and  in  his  subsequent 
letters. 

While  Young  was  getting  dinner  Darrell  sat  in  the 
kitchen  and  they  talked.  Darrell  related  some  of  his 
experiences  since  they  parted. 

All  the  time,  though,  he  was  watching  Young  with 
the  same  curiosity  he  had  felt  when  they  first  met, 
only  his  curiosity  was  now  greatly  intensified.  How 
should  he  approach  the  subject  of  this  man  being 
Frank  Horton?  How  should  he  apologize  or  get  out 
of  it  if  Young  proved  not  to  be  Frank  Horton?  Dar 
rell  would  not  for  any  consideration  offend  Young, 
whoever  he  might  be. 

This  part  of  the  matter,  however,  was  settled  more 
suddenly  than  Darrell  had  anticipated.  Dinner  over 
and  the  work  being  done,  Young  and  Darrell  re 
turned  to  the  sitting  room,  where  they  lighted  cigars 


UNITED  245 

which  Darrell  provided.  When  they  had  smoked  a 
little  time  Young  extended  his  congratulations  to 
Darrell  on  the  latter's  approaching  marriage  and  said, 
quietly:  "I  knew  Maude  Briggs  when  she  was  a  lit 
tle  girl." 

"Then,"  blurted  out  Darrell,  "you're  Frank  Hor- 
ton!" 

"Yes,"  replied  Young,  naively,  "I'm  Frank  Hor, 
ton." 

The  very  composure  with  which  Young — or  Hor~ 
ton — said  this  threw  Darrell  entirely  off  his  balance. 
He  had  been  wondering  how  to  establish  the  identity 
of  William  Young  and  Frank  Horton,  but  now  that 
this  was  done  he  saw  that  he  had  accomplished  the 
smallest  part  of  his  errand.  He  didn't  want  to  shock 
this  man.  Truth  to  tell,  he  was  a  little  afraid  to  do 
so.  Underneath  that  calm  exterior  Darrell  felt  that 
there  was  a  slumbering  volcano  of  passion,  and  that  a 
sudden  shock  to  him  would  be  like  touching  off  a 
quantity  of  blasting  powder. 

With  these  feelings  and  in  his  rattled  condition  Dar 
rell  adopted  about  as  awkward  a  course  as  could  have 
been  devised  by  a  man  of  his  experience  and  knowl 
edge  of  men,  though  it  is  true  this  particular  kind  of 
negotiation  was  new  to  him.  With  a  vague  idea  of 
leading  up  to  the  point  gradually,  he  began  somewhat 
abruptly  and  without  any  apparent  relevancy  to  relate 
instances  of  cases  where  people  had  been  supposed  to 


THE     LARGER     FAITH 

be  dead  but  turned  out  not  to  be.  He  related  a  case 
he  had  read  about  of  a  man  being  legally  hanged  and 
afterward  revived.  Then  he  told  of  an  instance  where 
a  woman,  after  being  in  her  coffin  for  two  days,  and 
just  when  they  were  about  to  bury  her,  was  discov 
ered  to  be  alive  and  lived  for  years  afterward.  Next 
he  related  the  story  of  a  man  who  had  been  in  bath 
ing  at  the  seashore,  and  had  gone  down  and  stayed 
in  the  water  for  more  than  an  hour  and  had  been 
taken  out  without  a  sign  of  life,  but  after  several 
hours'  work  with  him  had  revived  and  lived. 

From  the  time  of  stating  that  he  was  Frank  Hor- 
ton,  Young  had  not  uttered  a  word,  but  had  sat  there 
intently  watching  his  companion.  As  he  talked  on 
Darrell  was  getting  more  and  more  nervous,  and  he 
showed  it.  Finally  he  told  of  a  case  where  some  per 
son  had  been  supposed  to  be  drowned,  but  had  got 
hold  of  a  plank  or  something,  been  picked  up  and  re 
appeared  among  his  friends  after  having  been  sup 
posed  to  be  dead  for  months.  At  the  close  of  this 
story  Darrell  said,  in  a  rather  weak  voice:  "You've 
heard  of  such  cases,  Mr. — Horton?" 

For  answer  Horton,  over  whose  face  had  spread  a 
deathly  pallor,  strode  across  the  room,  grasped  Dar- 
rell's  arms  with  a  grip  which  made  the  latter  wince 
and  which  he  afterward  averred  left  marks  on  his 
arms  for  weeks,  and  said: 

"Is  Corinne  Eoberts  living?" 


UNITED  247 

"Yes"  answered  Darrell,  weakly. 

"And  at  E ?"  asked  Horton. 

"Yes,"  said  Darrell. 

"Tell  me  what  you  know,  man,  quick!"  commanded 
Horton. 

"You're  crushing  my  arms!"  exclaimed  Darrell. 

"Pardon  me.  I  didn't  know  I  was  touching  you," 
said  Horton,  releasing  his  hold  and  dropping  into  a 
chair.  "Now  go  on." 

"I  saw  Miss  Eoberts "  Darrell  began. 

"When?"  broke  in  Horton. 

"Within  a  week,"  said  Darrell. 

"Is  she  well?  How  does  she  look?  Are  her  parents 
living  and  well?  They  must  think  me " 

"They're  all  well,"  said  Darrell,  "and  all  of  them 
but  Miss  Eoberts  think  you're  dead.  If  she  ever 
looked  better  than  she  does  now " 

"You  say  she  doesn't  think  I'm  dead?"  interrupted 
Horton. 

"All  I  know  about  it  is  what  Maude  tells  me,"  re 
plied  Darrell,  and  he  related  the  conversation  between 
himself  and  Maude. 

Horton  was  deeply  touched  when  told  that  Corinne 
was  always  expecting  him,  though  her  parents  and  all 
her  friends  believed  him  dead. 

"All  of  them,"  said  Darrell,  "even  Maude,  thought 
Corinne  was  queer  in  that  respect." 

"The  intuition  of  love  is  often  superior  to  what 


248  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

we  call  judgment,"  said  Horton,  as  if  he  were  com 
muning  with  his  own  thoughts  rather  than  replying 
to  Darrell. 

Then  for  an  hour  followed  what  Darrell  asserted 
was  the  most  searching  examination  he  had  ever  un 
dergone.  Every  scrap  of  information  he  had  con 
cerning  Corinne,  her  parents  and  every  person  and 
everything  either  closely  or  remotely  related  to  her 
and  her  life  was  elicited. 

Finally,  after  a  lull  in  the  conversation,  Horton 
went  to  his  desk,  saying: 

"I  thought  at  first  I'd  send  a  telegram,  but  that 
wouldn't  be  fair — to  her.  I'll  write." 

"I'll  look  around  and  see  if  you've  been  taking 
proper  care  of  things  since  I  left,"  said  Darrell,  start 
ing  to  leave  the  room.  "I  hope,  though,"  he  added, 
as  he  paused  at  the  door,  ruefully  rubbing  his  biceps, 
"that  the  next  time  you  find  it  necessary  to  grab 
somebody  I'll  not  be  within  reach.  You  have  a  grip 
like  a  blacksmith." 

In  a  little  while  Horton  left  the  house  with  a  letter 
in  his  hand. 

"Ned,"  he  called  to  the  young  man,  who  was  at  a 
little  distance,  "I  want  to  get  to  the  station  in  time  to 
catch  the  mail  going  north.  May  I  ride  Whitefoot?" 
His  gray  was  out  in  pasture. 

"Why,  of  course,  Mr.  Young,"  answered  Ned. 
"But  why  can't  I  take  the  letter?" 


UNITED  249 

"Thank  you;  I  want  to  go  myself,"  said  Horton. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  station 
at  a  pace  that  made  Ned  uneasy. 

"I  hope  Mr.  Young  hasn't  got  any  bad  news?"  he 
said,  looking  inquiringly  at  Darrell. 

"No,  I  don't  think  he  would  call  it  bad  news,"  said 
Darrell.  "It  may  take  him  away  from  the  ranch, 
though." 

"That  so?"  said  Ned,  anxiously. 

"I  really  don't  know  what  his  plans  are,"  said  Dar 
rell.  "I  doubt  if  he  knows  himself." 

"Well,  you  can  just  count  he  comes  pretty  near 
knowing,"  said  Ned,  feeling  that  Darrell's  last  re 
mark  denoted  indecision  of  character  on  the  part  of 
his  guardian. 

"I  mean  till  he  gets  an  answer  to  his  letter,"  said 
Darrell.  "The  fact  is,  I've  brought  him  word  that  a 
friend  of  his  that  he  supposed  to  be  dead  is  still  liv* 
ing." 

"That's  curious,"  said  Ned.  "How  did  Mr.  Young 
come  to  think  he  was  dead  if  he's  alive?" 

"She's  a  woman,"  said  Darrell.  "She  was  thought 
to  be  drowned,  but  was  picked  up  by  an  outgoing 
steamer,  and  her  friends  didn't  hear  from  her  foi 
some  time." 

"Oh!"  said  Ned,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
he  felt  a  pang  of  jealousy — and  that  toward  a  woman. 

This  is  the  letter  Horton  sent: 


250  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

"MY  DEABEST  CORINNE  (if  I  may  still  call  you  so) : 

"When  a  little  while  ago  I  learned  from  Mr.  Darrell 
that  you  are  still  living,  my  first  intention  was  to  send 
you  a  telegram.  But  there  are  some  things  about 
myself  which  you  have  a  right  to  know  before  answer 
ing,  and  which  I  could  not  tell  you  by  telegraph. 

"For  nearly  two  years  after  I  left  E ,  supposing 

you  to  be  dead,  I  was  a  tramp,  and  a  drunken  tramp. 
In  all  that  time  I  hardly  drew  a  sober  breath.  Then 
I  was  convicted  of  murder  and  sent  to  the  Colorado 
penitentiary  under  a  life  sentence.  I  had  not  com 
mitted  the  crime  for  which  I  was  sentenced,  however, 
and  after  serving  something  over  six  months  of  my 
sentence  the  governor  of  the  state  pardoned  me  on 
the  ground  of  innocence. 

"I  was  at  all  times  true  to  your  memory,  save  that 
in  the  respect  mentioned  I  was  untrue  to  myself;  and 
I  would  have  continued  true  while  life  lasted  had  you 
been  dead.  Having  known  and  loved  you,  I  could 
love  no  other  woman. 

"I  cannot  bring  to  you  the  simple  purity  of  life  that 
is  worthy  of  you,  and  yet — I  love  you.  You  were — 
you  will  ever  be — a  part  of  my  life.  The  thought  of 
your  goodness  and  of  my  hiding  from  you — from 
myself — all  these  years  so  overwhelms  me  that  it  is 
difficult  for  me  to  compel  myself  to  write  calmly. 

"May  I  ask  you  to  send  me  a  message  by  wire  as 
soon  as  you  get  this,  addressing  me  as  William  Young, 
Tres  Piedras,  New  Mexico  ? 

"And  now,  if  you  can  forgive  the  great  wrong  I  did 
to  both  you  and  myself  when  I  thought  you  dead,  and 
receive  me  again  into  favor,  you  will  make  me  once 


UNITED  251 

more  the  happiest  of  men;  but  whether  you  do  or  not, 
I  shall  always  bless  you  and  always  love  you.    Yours, 

"FRANK  HORTON." 

Darrell  was  in  bed  when  Horton  returned  from  the 
station  after  mailing  his  letter.  The  next  day  their 
conversation  reverted  to  the  people  in  Ohio  in  whom 
they  were  both  so  greatly  interested. 

"I  hope  you'll  be  able  to  go  back  with  me,"  said 
Darrell. 

"I'll  know  within  a  week,"  replied  Horton. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Darrell,  anxious  to  aid  his  friend, 
"there's  something  I  could  explain  when  I  go  back?" 

"No,"  said  Horton,  decidedly,  "nobody  but  myself 
will  ever  explain  anything  for  me  to  Corinne  Roberts. 
Besides,"  he  added,  "I've  already  written  all  there  ia 
to  say  and  more  than  you  know  about  me.  You  didn't 
know,  for  instance,  that  I  am  an  ex-convict?" 

"No,  and  I  don't  believe  it,"  replied  Darrell. 

"It's  true,  nevertheless,"  said  Horton.  "I  was  sen 
tenced  to  the  Colorado  penitentiary  for  life,  and 
served  part  of  the  time." 

"But "  said  Darrell,  hesitatingly. 

"No,"  said  Horton,  smiling,  "I  wasn't  guilty.  The 
governor  pardoned  me  on  that  ground." 

Darrell,  at  a  loss  for  something  to  say,  remarked: 
"It  was  unfortunate  that  you  got  convicted." 

"I  don't  know  that  it  was,"  replied  Horton.    "I 


252  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

doubt  whether  I'd  have  been  alive  to-day  but  for  my 
conviction,  for  I  was  nearly  dead  with  drinking 
whisky  when  I  was  arrested." 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  ever,  drank  a  drop/'  said 
Darrell. 

"I  don't,"  replied  Horton,  "but  for  nearly  two 
years  I  drank  very  hard." 

Darrell  felt  that  now  he  was  beginning  to  know 
something  of  this  man.  Although  the  errand  he  had 
started  out  on  was  fully  performed,  he  stayed,  anxious 
to  know  what  Corinne's  answer  would  be  and  what 
would  be  Horton's  next  move.  As  for  Horton,  he 
went  about  with  a  feverish  intensity  during  the  three 
days  following  the  sending  of  his  letter,  inspecting  his 
stock  and  everything  about  the  ranch,  occasionally 
giving  Ned  a  suggestion  as  to  the  care  of  some  animal 
or  what  would  best  be  done  at  sheep-shearing  time. 

On  the  fourth  day  he  went  to  the  station.  Ned 
Long's  anxiety  had  been  increasing  since  his  talk 
with  Darrell.  He  had  never  seen  Horton  so  pre 
occupied  and  uncommunicative.  Ned  felt  that  he  had 
a  grievance  against  that  woman,  whoever  she  was,  for 
not  staying  drowned.  Still  if  Horton — or,  as  Ned 
knew  him,  Young — cared  for  her,  Ned  would  have 
defended  her  with  his  life.  His  worst  fears  were  real 
ized  when  Horton  rode  home  that  day  and  in  his 
presence  handed  Darrell  a  telegram,  saying: 

"I'll  go  back  with  you — if  you  start  soon  enough." 


UNITED  253 

Then  to  Ned  he  added:    "I  leave  on  the  next  train, 
Ned,  to  be  absent  some  time." 
This  was  the  telegram  Darrell  read: 

"WILLIAM  YOUNG,  TRES  PIEDRAS,  NEW  MEXICO: 
"There  is  no  past.    The  present  and  the  future  are 
enough.    Nothing  to  forgive.    I  have  expected  you 
always.    Come.  COBINNE." 

"Ned,"  said  Horton,  "I'll  leave  you  some  money. 
If  you  need  more  and  don't  hear  from  me,  sell  some 
thing.  Treat  everything  as  your  own  till  I  return. 
The  work  will  all  fall  on  you  now,  but  you'll  get 
along.  By  the  way,  my  name  is  Frank  Horton.  I'll 
write  to  you.  Take  care  of  yourself." 

Ned  was  too  well  accustomed  to  Horton's  ways  to 
ask  any  questions,  but  his  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Don't  let  yourself  feel  lonely  or  forsaken,"  said 
Horton,  laying  his  hand  on  Ned's  shoulder.  "What 
ever  occurs,  you  will  always  fill  a  warm  place  in  my 
heart,  my  boy." 

Horton's  clothes  were  very  plain.  He  decided  to 

travel  to  C ,  where  Darrell  lived,  stop  off  there 

long  enough  to  get  an  outfit  of  clothes,  and  then  pro 
ceed  to  E to  meet  Corinne. 

As  they  traveled  eastward  Darrell  brought  up  the 
subject  of  their  correspondence,  and  in  the  course  of 
their  talks  said:  "I  go  pretty  regularly  to  hear  Mr. 


254  THE    LARGER     FAITH 

Winter  preach.  You  know  he's  an  independent 
preacher  now?" 

"Yes,"  said  Horton,  "he  wrote  me  that  he  was 
preaching  in  an  independent  church,  or  rather  in  an 
independent  theater.  How  is  he  coming  on?" 

"Splendidly,"  replied  Darrell.  "He  has  the  biggest 
audiences  of  any  minister  in  the  city,  and  I  think  the 
most  intelligent  audiences.  One  thing  is  sure,  his 
sermons  are  full  of  practical  religion  and  he's  doing 
a  vast  amount  of  good.  By  the  way,  he  thinks  you 
are  a  great  man  and  a  great  teacher." 

"We  became  very  good  friends  while  he  was  at  the 
ranch,"  said  Horton. 

"Yes,  but  aside  from  friendship  he  told  me  he  be 
lieved  he  had  learned  more  in  the  five  months  he  was 
there  than  in  his  whole  life  before,"  said  Darrell,  and 
he  added:  "I  could  understand  him,  for  I  learned 
more  from  you  than  I  ever  knew  before." 

"Well,"  replied  Horton,  smiling,  "I  may  decide  to 
open  a  kindergarten  for  youths  of  twenty-five  to 
fifty." 

"You'll  have  pupils  if  you  do,"  said  Darrell,  seri 
ously. 

As  their  train  pulled  out  of  a  station  one  day  it  ran 
slowly  past  a  freight  train  in  which  some  tramps  were 
seen.  Darrell  made  some  remark  about  them. 

"There  isn't  near  so  much  difference  between  those 


UNITED  256 

people  and  the  ones  who  ride  in  palace  cars  as  we 
sometimes  imagine,"  said  Horton. 

"Still,  a  gulf  separates  them,"  replied  Darrell. 

"It's  a  gulf  that  may  be  quickly  crossed,  either 
way,"  returned  Horton. 

Arrived  at  C ,  Horton  visited  a  barber  shop, 

then  spent  two  hours  shopping.  When  Darrell  ac 
companied  him  to  the  train  Horton  seemed  an  easy 
man  about  town.  Except  for  the  tan  on  his  face  he 
would  have  passed  for  a  resident  of  the  city.  His 
clothes  were  ready  made,  but  they  fitted  him  well  and 
were  in  quiet  colors.  Besides,  as  Darrell  acknowl 
edged  to  himself,  somehow  nobody  was  likely  to  look 
much  at  Horton's  clothes. 

The  meeting  between  Frank  Horton  and  Corinne 
Roberts  was  too  sacred  for  us  to  intrude  upon.  Suf 
fice  it  to  say  there  was  on  both  sides  absolute  frank 
ness,  entire  confidence,  unbounded  faith,  and  that 
perfect  love  which  comes  to  a  man  and  woman  but 
once  in  a  lifetime. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   RANCHMAN. 

One  Sunday  at  the  close  of  his  sermon  Mr.  Winter 
said  to  his  congregation:  "I  have  an  announcement 
which  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  make.  Frank  Horton, 
the  friend  whom  you  have  heard  me  mention  and 
whom  I  met  at  his  ranch  in  New  Mexico,  is  now  in 
the  east,  and  I  have  invited  him  to  speak  to  us  from 
this  platform  on  the  first  Sunday  convenient  for  him. 
He  answers  that  he  will  do  so  next  Sunday,  provided 
I  make  it  plain  to  you  that  I  am  not  responsible  for 
anything  he  may  say.  I  make  this  statement  at  his 
request,  for  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  his  saying  any 
thing  that  will  hurt  any  of  us  to  hear." 

It  became  noised  about  that  a  ranchman  from  New 
Mexico  was  to  fill  Mr.  Winter's  pulpit  the  next  Sun 
day,  and  one  of  the  local  papers  mentioned  the  fact. 
The  auditorium  was  filled,  and  the  people  were  some 
what  surprised  at  the  appearance  of  the  ranchman 
when  he  stepped  forward  on  the  platform.  There  was 
nothing  clerical  about  his  appearance;  neither  was 
there  anything  suggestive  of  ranch  life.  He  was  so 


THE     RANCHMAN  257 

well  dressed  that  nobody  could  have  told  afterward 
what  kind  of  clothes  he  wore.  Without  announcing 
any  text,  and  without  any  exordium,  he  began  talk 
ing  to  them  in  a  conversational  tone,  which,  however, 
could  be  heard  throughout  the  house.  He  said: 

"There  is  a  prevalent  idea  that  religion  is  some 
thing  apart  from  every-day  life;  that  man's  spiritual 
welfare  is  one  thing,  his  temporal  welfare  another. 
I  do  not  believe  this  to  be  true.  Man  has  but  one  real 
nature,  his  spiritual  nature.  There  is  but  one  kind 
of  welfare,  and  that  is  spiritual  welfare.  All  else  is 
but  seeming;  but  the  appearance  which  we  sometimes 
take  for  the  fact.  Every  human  being  is  the  child  of 
God,  and  has  in  him  the  spirit  of  God.  To  our  phys 
ical  or  even  to  our  mental  perceptions  this  spirit  may 
seem  to  be  dormant,  or  dead,  or  entirely  lacking.  It 
is  there  just  the  same. 

"For  the  spirit  of  God  in  man  is  the  very  life  prin 
ciple — it  is  the  conscious  I  am  in  every  human  being. 
It  is  the  soul.  Without  it  man  would  instantly  cease 
to  be  man. 

"Keligion,  I  take  it,  is  nothing  more  than  the  de 
velopment  of  this  spirit,  which  brings  man  into  a  con 
sciousness  of  his  relationship  to  God,  and  hence  to  all 
life.  Religion  in  this  sense  is  common  to  all  men,  in 
herent  in  all  men.  It  is  a  necessary  and  a  natural 
part  of  every  man's  being. 

"The  notion  that  science  and  religion  conflict  one 


258  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

with  the  other  is  wholly  a  mistake.  No  fact  which 
has  ever  been  established  or  which  ever  may  be  estab 
lished  by  science  in  anywise  conflicts  or  can  conflict 
with  religion.  Truth  cannot  conflict  with  truth. 

"The  experiment  of  trying  to  separate  man's  phys 
ical  from  his  spiritual  nature — of  trying  to  secure  his 
temporal  welfare  without  taking  into  consideration 
his  spiritual  welfare — has  been  tried  over  and  over 
again.  It  has  always  failed.  It  always  will  fail.  Be 
cause  every  such  attempt  is  in  direct  contravention  ol 
a  law  of  nature — that  is  to  say,  of  the  law  of  man's 
nature  by  which  he  was  created  a  spiritual  being. 

"Man  seeks  happiness  because  there  is  inborn  in 
every  man  a  recognition  of  the  fact  that  he  has  a  right 
to  happiness.  We  seek  to  gratify  the  senses,  and  it  is 
right  that  we  should  do  so.  Some  odors,  sounds, 
sights,  are  pleasing  to  us;  others  displease  us.  Some 
kinds  of  food  and  drink  are  pleasant  and  healthful; 
others  are  distasteful  and  hurtful.  Some  things  are 
pleasant,  others  are  painful  to  the  touch.  It  is  per 
fectly  proper  that  in  all  these  matters  the  senses 
should  be  gratified,  but  it  is  an  error  to  suppose  that 
happiness  is  to  be  found  in  the  gratification  of  the 
senses. 

"And  herein  lies  what  I  look  upon  as  the  funda 
mental  error  of  mankind.  It  is  constantly  sought  by 
some  change  in  external  physical  conditions  to  secure 
man's  happiness.  One  proposes  a  change  of  political 


THE     RANCHMAN  259 

conditions,  another  has  economic  theories  which  he 
guarantees  to  produce  human  happiness  if  adopted. 
They  are  merely  scratching  at  the  surface.  All  these 
things  are  effects,  not  causes — or,  if  you  please,  ef 
fects  which,  in  turn,  become  causes.  You  may  change 
a  man's  every  external  condition  and  leave  him  still 
unhappy.  'If  every  one  were  housed  in  a  palace,  dis 
satisfaction,  rivalry  and  restlessness  would  still  be  the 
rule/  This  would  not  be  true  if  man  were  only  an  in 
telligent  animal — he  could  then  be  made  happy,  as 
the  brutes  are,  by  a  change  in  external  conditions. 

"But  man's  happiness  or  unhappiness  is  not  to  be 
found  in  external  conditions,  but  within  himself. 
Heaven  and  hell  are  not  locations,  but  conditions. 
And  they  are  conditions  which  are  ever  present  with 
us.  We  create  our  own  heaven  or  hell,  and  we  live  in 
the  one  or  the  other  day  by  day.  He  who  is  hoping 
for  happiness  only  after  death  will  not  achieve  happi 
ness,  for  there  is  no  death. 

"True,  proper  external  conditions  are  necessary  to 
the  welfare  of  our  physical  being,  and,  therefore,  es 
sential  to  our  happiness.  But  is  there  a  single  wrong 
condition  which  is  chargeable  to  Nature?  Is  there 
one  which  man  has  not  brought  on  himself? 

"There  is  an  ample  supply  of  sunshine,  of  pure  air. 
of  pure  water,  for  all  mankind,  for  all  life.  Yet  thou 
sands  of  human  beings  are  to-day  lacking  these  es 
sentials  to  physical  health.  Why?  Not  because  God 


260  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

— or  Nature — has  made  any  mistake  or  has  been  at  all 
stinted  in  these  gifts,  but  because  of  man's  own  error 
in  not  availing  himself  of  what  is  provided  in  such 
ample  abundance. 

"In  like  manner  God  has  provided  an  ample 
amount  of  health,  happiness  and  prosperity  for  all 
mankind.  Why,  then,  are  not  all  men  happy,  healthy 
and  prosperous?  Again,  it  is  not  because  God  has 
failed  or  Nature  has  failed  to  make  ample  provision, 
but  because  man  is  depriving  himself  of  these  things 
which  are  at  hand  and  within  his  reach.  Why  does 
man  do  this?  Only  through  ignorance — through  a 
failure  to  take  into  consideration  his  real  nature,  the 
fundamental  law  of  his  being. 

"One  may  live  in  the  upper  part  of  his  house  and 
get  the  benefit  of  air  and  sunshine,  or  he  may  shut 
himself  in  the  cellar  and  deprive  himself  of  both  pure 
air  and  sunshine. 

"We've  been  living  too  long  in  the  cellar.  There 
are  evidences  on  every  hand  that  the  plan  is  not  a 
success.  Is  it  not  time  to  try  the  other  plan? 

"Do  not  misunderstand  me  as  meaning  that  there  is 
no  necessity  for  the  study  of  economic  and  social 
questions,  or  that  political  action  is  useless.  My  belief 
is  exactly  the  reverse  of  such  a  view.  There  is  no 
practicable  way  of  bringing  about  changes  in  exist 
ing  conditions,  of  correcting  present  errors  and 


THE    BA.NCHMAN  261 

wrongs,  save  political  action  on  the  part  of  the  peo 
ple. 

'Tor  we,  the  people,  organized  as  society,  are  caus 
ing  ourselves  all  the  unhappiness  we  suffer.  The 
Creator,  as  I  said  before,  has  provided  amply  for  all 
the  wants  of  all  mankind.  But  mankind,  because  of 
custom,  precedent  and  conventionality,  are  simply 
robbing  themselves,  or  permitting  themselves  to  be 
robbed  when  they  could  prevent  it,  which  amounts  to 
the  same  thing. 

"It  would  attract  attention  and  cause  exclamations 
of  surprise  if  it  were  known  that  a  family  of  a  dozen 
persons  in  this  community  permitted  one  of  their 
number,  no  larger  or  stronger  than  the  others,  to  col 
lect  in  a  corner  and  keep  from  the  others  most  of  the 
food  and  clothing  provided  for  the  entire  family, 
there  to  decay  for  lack  of  use  while  the  other  eleven 
persons  in  the  family  went  hungry  and  ill  clad.  Can 
any  of  you  tell  me  the  difference  between  the  actions 
of  that  family  and  what  society  is  doing? 

"  'Man's  Inhumanity  to  man 

Makes  countless  thousands  mourn.' 

"Also  man's  own  ignorance  and  indifference  are 
causing  him  to  mourn. 

"The  remedy  lies  in  our  own  hands.  The  practical 
method  of  applying  it  is  by  political  action.  By  all 
means  express  your  views  in  the  conduct  of  the  gov- 


262  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

eminent,  national,  state  and  local.  There  is  as  much 
religion  in  going  to  the  polls  and  voting  as  there  is 
in  going  to  church  and  singing  hymns — often  more. 

"Only  in  voting,  as  in  all  other  actions,  keep  in 
mind  the  fundamental  truth  that  all  human  beings 
are  members  of  one  family  having  a  common  parent; 
that  all  men  are,  therefore,  your  brothers,  and  that 
your  highest  duty  is  to  do  what  you  can  for  the  good 
of  the  family. 

"If  we  vote  in  this  spirit,  using  such  means  as  we 
have  of  knowing  what  is  best  for  the  family,  we  shall 
be  voting  right.  Possibly  we  may  vote  opposite  tick 
ets,  but  still  each  one  will  be  doing  the  right  thing, 
and  it  is  likely  that  later  we  shall  be  voting  together. 

"Besides,  we  may  each  bear  in  mind  that  our  own 
particular  way  of  getting  at  a  result  may  not  be  the 
best  way. 

"You  can  reach  San  Francisco  by  traveling  west 
ward — that  is  the  shortest  route.  But  if  you  travel  in 
exactly  the  opposite  direction,  and  keep  going,  you 
will  arrive  at  the  same  destination. 

"William  Lloyd  Garrison,  Wendell  Phillips  and 
John  Brown  did  something  toward  ending  human 
slavery  in  America.  But  John  C.  Calhoun,  Eobert 
Toombs  and  Jefferson  Davis  were  also  influential  in 
bringing  about  the  same  result. 

"Some  unthinking  persons  deprecate  the  mention 
of  politics  in  the  pulpit.  For  my  part,  I  believe  there 


THE     RANCHMAN"  263 

is  no  subject  which  concerns  human  happiness  which 
is  unfit  for  the  pulpit.  When  you  erect  a  church,  as  I 
understand  you  intend  doing,  I  trust  you  will  make 
your  pulpit  a  forum  from  which  may  be  discussed  any 
and  every  subject  which  affects  the  daily  life  of  men 
and  women. 

"For  what  we  need  to  learn  is  how  best  to  live  and 
to  make  this  world  a  better  place  to  live  in. 

"I  heard  of  a  church  dignitary  saying  of  the  mem 
bers  of  his  denomination:  'Our  people  die  well!'  It 
would  have  been  much  more  to  the  purpose  had  he 
been  able  to  say:  'Our  people  live  well.' 

"Living  well  is  something  more  than  merely  acting 
in  a  proper  manner.  It  means  being  right.  If  we  be 
right,  our  acting  will  be  right.  If  we  get  the  in 
ternal  man  right,  the  external,  which  is  manifested  in 
action,  may  safely  be  allowed  to  take  care  of  itself. 

"People  who  live  with  the  sole  object  of  dying  well 
and  attaining  happiness  beyond  the  grave  are  likely 
to  learn  some  day  that  they  mistook  the  purpose  of 
life. 

"My  own  opinion  is  that  what  we  call  death  is 
probably  much  less  of  a  change  in  the  existence  of 
the  individual  than  is  generally  supposed. 

"A  fountain,  a  beacon,  by  whomsoever  first  estab 
lished,  becomes  the  common  benefaction  of  all  pass 
ers-by.  So  truth,  by  whomsoever  first  formulated  or 


264  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

uttered,  is  the  common  inheritance  of  all  who  come 
into  a  knowledge  of  it. 

"Truth  is  eternal.  Spiritual  truths  are  ever-exist 
ent  facts,  cognizable  only  by  spiritual  perception. 
Jesus  formulated  and  gave  utterance  to  many  spirit 
ual  truths.  By  his  life — that  is  to  say,  the  three 
years  of  his  life  of  which  we  have  some  account — 
and  by  his  death,  he  vitalized  and  energized  many 
others.  But  he  never  manufactured  a  single  spirit 
ual  fact.  He  did  not  change  in  the  slightest  degree 
the  spiritual  law  of  man's  nature,  or  the  law  of  man's 
spiritual  nature. 

"Nothing  is  true  to  you  unless  your  spiritual  and 
mental  perceptions  enable  you  to  judge  it  and  accept 
it  as  truth.  To  illustrate:  Suppose  I  hand  you  a 
book  printed  in  a  language  with  which  you  are  un 
acquainted.  I  ask  you  'Is  it  true?'  You  can  only 
answer  that  you  do  not  know.  There  is  no  truth 
in  it  for  you. 

"Nothing  that  Jesus  uttered  is  true  simply  because 
he  said  it;  for  every  truth  uttered  by  him  was  an  ex 
istent  truth  before  he  gave  utterance  to  it. 

"On  the  other  hand,  nothing  lacks  the  quality  of 
truth  simply  because  the  author  is  unknown.  Truth 
is  where  you  find  it.  Truth  for  you  exists  only 
where  your  perception  enables  you  to  recognize  it  as 
truth. 

"In  the  matter  of  authoritativeness  there  is  no 


THE    BANCHMAN  265 

distinction  between  the  sayings  of  Jesus  and  the  say 
ings  of  the  undistinguishable  John  Jones  of  the  pres 
ent  day.  Either  may  be  true  to  you;  either,  to  you, 
may  lack  the  essential  element  of  all  truth. 

"But  you  ask  me:  'Do  you  not  then  believe  in 
Jesus  Christ?'  I  believe,  profoundly,  in  the  teach* 
ings,  and  in  the  personality,  of  Jesus.  He  was  the 
one  great  man,  not  only  of  his  age,  but  I  think  of 
every  age.  He  recognized,  more  clearly  than  any 
other  of  his  time,  man's  true  relationship  to  God. 
In  a  time  when  man  seemed  given  over  to  the  false 
notion  that  heaven  is  a  far-off  place  to  be  attained 
only  after  death,  Jesus  perceived  and  was  able  to  say 
from  personal  experience  that  'the  kingdom  of 
heaven  is  within  you.'  He  founded  a  religion  or 
form  of  religion  which  I  look  upon  as  the  ultimate 
wisdom  of  man.  For  the  Christian  religion,  so  called, 
is  in  its  essential  truths  the  final  religion  of  mankind. 
It  is  so  broad,  so  all-embracing,  that  it  seems  to  me 
to  cover  all  that  man  can  desire  and  all  that  he  can 
need.  It  is  the  religion  of  mankind — that  is  to  say, 
it  is  religion.  For  all  religion  is  one,  whether  pro 
mulgated  by  Jesus,  by  Mohammed,  by  Confucius, 
or  by — John  Jones.  We  talk  of  this  religion  and 
that  religion;  of  this  denomination  and  that  denom 
ination.  Idle  words!  All  are  seeking  to  know  God. 
All  are  seeking  to  know  man's  relationship  to  God. 
And  all  are  succeeding.  Man  is  coming  into  the 


266  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

light,  and  this  much  more  rapidly,  I  think,  than  ii 
generally  recognized. 

"The  acceptance  of  the  truth,  the  coming  into  the 
knowledge  of  our  true  relationship  to  God,  is  not  a 
matter  of  groanings  or  anguish  of  spirit.  It  is  simply 
letting  the  light  of  God's  truth  shine,  permitting  the 
warmth  of  God's  love  to  permeate  us  and  find  expres 
sion  in  us. 

"Every  person  will  find  this  light  and  this  love 
within  himself,  and  sooner  or  later  will  give  expres 
sion  to  them. 

"  'Coming  to  God'  is  a  misleading  expression.  None 
of  us  was  ever  for  a  moment  away  from  God.  As 
well  might  the  smallest  thing  that  lives  in  the  ocean 
attempt  to  quarrel  with  or  escape  from  its  element  as 
for  man  to  try  to  escape  from  God. 

"All  deviations  from  the  laws  of  nature  carry  with 
them  their  own  penalties;  and  these  penalties  are 
kindly  warnings.  Fire  and  water  are  useful  and 
kindly  elements,  so  long  as  the  body  sustains  the 
proper  relation  to  them.  Let  this  proper  relation  be 
disturbed,  as  by  casting  the  body  into  these  elements, 
and  they  become  hurtful,  destructive. 

"If  man's  body  were  incapable  of  feeling  pain,  it 
would  soon  destroy  itself  and  the  race  would  cease 
to  exist. 

"Man's  spiritual  nature  demands  recognition  and 
satisfaction  with  even  greater  insistence  than  does 


THE    BANCHMAN  267 

the  body.  Every  infraction  of  the  law  of  man's 
spiritual  nature  carries  with  it  the  resulting  penalty 
of  unhappiness. 

"Delays  in  this  matter  are  not  dangerous;  but  de 
lays  may  be  painful. 

"No  human  soul  will  be  lost;  for  every  soul  is  a 
part  of  God. 

"The  coarse  materialism  of  the  present  day  which 
regards  as  realities  only  those  forms  of  matter 
which  can  be  recognized  by  the  physical  senses,  seems 
to  me  to  be  radically  and  wholly  at  variance  with  the 
truth.  The  only  reality  ::  Ih?  soul.  All  these  forms 
of  matter  are  but  shadows  the  outward  manifesta 
tions  or  expressions  of  thought. 

"The  hope  of  humanity  lies  in  the  diffusion  of 
light.  A  brighter  day  is  dawnirg;  to  many  it  is  al 
ready  here.  The  world  is  oomirg  to  adopt  as  a  rule 
of  every-day  conduct  the  idealism  of  Jesus. 

"But  it  is  objected  that  this  would  stop  human 
progress.  What  is  progress?  Much  to  which  we 
give  that  name  is  really  decadence.  The  adoption  of 
this  plan  of  life  would  not  stop  invention.  It  would 
not  stop  the  necessary  work  of  the  world;  for  to  one 
who  is  at  peace  work  is  a  pleasure  and  not  a  task. 
The  work  of  the  world  ought  to  be  done  and  will  be 
done  not  in  subversion  of  the  spiritual  life,  but  in 
aid  and  development  of  it. 

"The  adoption  of  this  doctrine  would  not  stop  or 


268  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

delay  anything  that  is  true  progress.  It  might,  and 
I  think  it  will,  change  some  phases  of  existing  con 
ditions. 

"I  admit  that  in  the  economic  system  of  Jesus 
there  is  no  place  for  either  the  millionaire  or  the 
tramp.  Neither  one  is  useful.  Both  could  be 
abolished  to  the  advantage  of  the  human  race.  We 
are  apt  sometimes  to  become  impatient.  We  view 
things  from  a  narrow  standpoint,  having  constantly 
in  mind  the  short  space  of  time  during  which  the 
human  body  exists  in  its  present  form.  But  the  soul 
is  infinite,  eternal;  and  as  infinity  recognizes  not 
space,  nor  eternity  time,  so  the  soul  knows  no  here 
or  there,  no  yesterday,  to-day  or  to-morrow. 

"There  is  one  with  whom  a  thousand  years  are  as 
a  day,  and  a  day  is  as  a  thousand  years. 

"I  am  an  optimist.  I  have  entire  confidence  in  the 
coming  of  a  better  time,  the  dawning  of  a  brighter 
day  for  mankind.  I  am  equally  sure  that  this  will 
be  brought  about  only  by  the  diffusion  of  light 
among  mankind  and  the  recognition  of  man's  real 
nature.  This  seems  to  me  to  be  the  first  and  most 
essential  element  to  man's  welfare  and  happiness. 
This  element  omitted,  all  changes  in  the  laws  will 
prove  ineffectual;  this  truth  overlooked,  all  attempted 
reforms  will  end  in  merely  shifting  burdens  to  other 
shoulders. 

"Men  will  not  cease  to  do  injustice  because  a  stat- 


THE    RANCHMAN  269 

ute  commands  it;  they  will  not  recognize  each  other 
as  brothers  because  the  law  says  they  shall. 

"All  force  is  silent.  Love,  which  is  the  essence  of 
all  true  religion,  is  the  dominant  power  of  the  world 
to-day.  Love  is  the  sun,  gentle,  all-pervading,  all- 
powerful,  whose  tendency  is  always  to  lift  up,  to 
purify  and  to  attract.  The  power  of  love  is  the 
power  of  God. 

"The  eternal  fatherhood  of  God  and  the  universal 
brotherhood  of  man  is  not  a  Utopian  dream,  but  an 
existent  fact  the  full  fruition  of  which  is  becoming 
the  dream  of  nations;  and  'the  dreams  that  nations 
dream  come  true.' 

"Never  since  the  Christian  era  has  there  been  such 
a  spiritual  awakening  as  in  these  last  days  of  the  nine 
teenth  century.  Never  has  there  been  a  time  when 
the  demand  for  spiritual  food  and  light  was  so  great 
as  it  is  to-day.  The  world  is  progressing  in  this 
direction  with  as  great  rapidity  as  in  the  arts  and 
sciences,  in  inventions  and  machinery.  The  time  is 
coming,  and  coming  fast, 

"  'That  man  to  man  the  warld  o'er 
Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that.' 

"Belief  is  not  a  matter  of  volition.  We  believe 
when  the  evidence  convinces  us;  we  disbelieve  when 
we  are  not  convinced.  'We  do  not  take  possession 
of  our  ideas  but  are  possessed  by  them.'  No  human 


270  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

being  is  under  obligation  to  believe,  or  to  disbelieve, 
anything. 

"Spiritual  truth,  to  him  who  perceives  it,  is 
thereafter  as  real  as  any  fact  in  his  existence.  What 
I  have  said  to  you  is  true,  to  me.  It  can  only  be  true 
to  each  of  you  in  so  far  as  it  is  mirrored  as  truth  in 
your  own  consciousness." 

When  Horton  ceased  speaking  a  hymn  was  an 
nounced,  after  the  singing  of  which  Horton,  at  a  sign 
from  Mr.  Winter,  advanced  to  the  front  of  the  plat 
form,  raised  his  hand,  and  looking  out  over  the  con 
gregation  pronounced  this  benediction: 

"The  love  of  God  is  with  you,  alwaysl" 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

OLD   FRIENDS   MEET. 

Frank  Horton  called  at  the  Gazette  office  the  day 

after  his  arrival  at  E .  He  found  that  the  paper 

had  prospered  fairly  during  his  absence,  and  there 
was  a  neat  sum  in  bank  to  his  credit  representing  the 
dividends  on  his  stock.  A  few  weeks  later,  or  at  the 
expiration  of  seven  years  from  the  date  of  his  dis 
appearance,  an  application  was  to  have  been  made  to 
the  Probate  court  for  the  appointment  of  an  admin 
istrator  of  his  estate. 

The  next  issue  of  the  paper  contained  this  notice 
at  the  head  of  the  editorial  columns: 

"Mr.  Frank  Horton,  former  editor,  has  returned 
and  will  shortly  assume  editorial  management  of  the 
Gazette." 

With  Corinne  and  her  parents  Horton  was  entirely 

frank  concerning  his  life  after  leaving  E .  He 

told  them  of  being  sent  to  the  penitentiary,  but 
seemed  averse  to  talking  about  the  mistake  under 
which  he  was  sent  there,  saying,  when  asked  about 
the  particulars,  that  it  was  a  subject  he  preferred  not 


272  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

to  dwell  upon;  and  his  feelings  in  this  matter  were 
respected. 

The  Gazette  became  again  a  one-man  paper  when 
Horton  resumed  editorial  control  of  it.  Every  part 
of  the  paper  reflected  the  personality  of  the  man  who 
conducted  it.  Its  character  was  broader  and  more 
liberal,  its  tone  somewhat  more  charitable,  than  in 
former  years;  but  its  good-natured  candor  was  the 
despair  of  small-fry  politicians  and  of  all  who  had 
anything  constituting  legitimate  news  which  they 
wished  to  conceal. 

While  not  changing  the  general  character  of  the 
Gazette  as  a  secular  newspaper,  Horton  frequently 
expressed  in  its  editorial  columns  his  views  on  re^ 
ligious  and  social  questions.  These  articles  were 
widely  read  and  criticised,  especially  by  denomina* 
tional  papers.  The  editor  of  the  Gazette  was  fre 
quently  given  pointed  suggestions  to  the  effect  that 
the  shoemaker  should  stick  to  his  last,  and  that  re 
ligious  questions  should  be  settled  by  those  who  had 
made  a  study  of  religion,  and  not  by  laymen. 

The  week  following  Horton's  address  to  the  con 
gregation  of  Rev.  David  Winter  this  item  appeared  in 
the  Presbyterian  Signal : 

"We  are  credibly  informed  that  the  evangelist  or 
reformer,  or  whatever  he  would  like  to  be  called, 
who  last  Sabbath  filled  the  pulpit  (?)  of  Rev.  (?) 
David  Winter,  and  who  is  advertised  to  address  the 


OLD     FKIENDS     MEET  273 

people  at  Workingmen's  Hall  next  Tuesday  evening, 
is  in  reality  an  ex-convict  of  a  western  penitentiary. 
The  people  who  attended  the  meeting,  and  especially 
the  members  of  the  Presbyterian  church  who  went 
there,  may  well  ask  themselves  whether  this  is  the 
kind  of  person  from  whom  they  can  get  instruction 
in  religious  matters." 

When  on  the  next  Tuesday  evening  Horton  ap 
peared  at  Workingmen's  Hall,  he  addressed  the  as 
sembly  with  the  same  quiet  earnestness  which  always 
characterized  him. 

At  the  close  of  his  address  he  read  the  above  ex 
tract  from  the  Signal,  and  said: 

"This  has  been  handed  to  me  with  a  request  that 
I  deny  it.  I  cannot  deny  it,  for  it  is  true.  I  did 
serve  something  more  than  six  months  in  the  Colo 
rado  penitentiary.  I  was  not  guilty,  however,  and  I 
was  pardoned  on  the  ground  of  my  innocence.  I  do 
not  care  further  to  go  into  this  matter." 

"What  was  your  number  at  the  penitentiary?" 
called  out  a  voice  at  the  back  of  the  hall. 

There  were  some  cries  of  'Tut  him  out!"  and 
"Order!"  but  Horton  raised  his  hand  and  said,  quiet 
ly,  "I  was  number  3708." 

"I  guess  you  won't  put  me  out — not  right  now," 
said  the  man  who  had  asked  the  question,  pushing 
his  way  toward  the  platform.  "I've  got  a  few  words 
to  say,  myself." 


274  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

He  was  attempting  to  talk  from  the  floor  in  front 
of  the  platform  when  cries  of  "Platform!  Platform!" 
stopped  him.  Mounting  the  platform,  he  said:  "For 
four  years  I've  been  hunting  the  man  that  was  No. 
3708  in  the  Colorado  penitentiary.  For  he  went 
there  on  my  account.  It  was  this  way:  I  was  in  a 
saloon  drinking.  I  got  into  a  quarrel.  The  man  I 
was  quarreling  with  reached  for  a  gun.  I  shot  him. 
It  was  a  question  of  kill  him  or  get  killed.  Still, 
I'm  sorry  I  ever  killed  a  man.  But  it  isn't  on  my 
own  account  I'm  here.  I've  hunted  four  years  for 
No.  3708.  I  just  got  here  to-night,  on  my  way 
home.  I  heard  Frank  Horton  was  to  speak,  and  I 
used  to  know  him.  He  was  an  old  friend  of  mine. 
If  he  was  No.  3708  he  served  time  for  me — trying 
to  shield  me.  I  saw  somebody  come  into  the  saloon 
while  I  was  having  the  quarrel,  but  I  didn't  see  who 
it  was.  I  suppose  he  recognized  me.  I  ran  away, 
not  because  I  was  afraid  of  a  trial,  but  because  I  was 
afraid  of  being  lynched  by  the  Buck  Brady  gang. 
They  were  running  that  town  then,  and  the  man  I 
shot  was  one  of  them.  When  Frank  Horton  let 
them  fix  the  shooting  on  him  rather  than  tell  on  me, 
he  took  chances  on  his  life,  and  pretty  long  chances. 
When  he  let  them  send  him  to  the  penitentiary  with 
out  saying  a  word — for  I  heard  how  the  man  acted 
though  I  couldn't  find  out  who  he  was — it  amounted 
to  his  giving  up  his  life  for  me.  I  reckon  that's 


OLD    FKIENDS    MEET  275 

about  as  much  as  one  man  can  do  for  another.  I 
didn't  hear  for  several  months  that  some  man  had 
been  convicted  and  sent  up  for  the  shooting  that  I'd 
done.  As  soon  as  I  did  hear  it  I  went  to  the  gov 
ernor  of  the  State,  told  him  the  facts  and  surrendered 
myself.  When  the  authorities  investigated  the  mat 
ter  they  were  satisfied  that  I  acted  in  self-defense, 
and  turned  me  loose  without  a  trial.  The  governor 
had  pardoned  the  man  that  was  sent  up  in  my  place, 
and  the  man  had  disappeared.  I  ought  to  have  rec 
ognized  the  description  I  got  of  him;  but  I  never 
thought  of  Frank  Horton  being  in  the  west.  I 
thought  all  the  time  it  must  be  somebody  I'd  met  up 
with  out  there.  Now  you  have  the  facts  about  Frank 
Horton  being  in  the  penitentiary." 

A  ripple  of  applause  went  over  the  audience, 
after  which  Dick  added:  <rMy  name  is  Briggs. 

I  live  here  in  Ohio — up  at  E .  I'm  not  posing 

as  a  bad  man.  I  don't  carry  a  gun  or  drink  whisky 
any  more.  But  if  anybody  ever  refers  to  Frank  Hor 
ton  as  an  ex-convict  in  my  presence — there'll  some 
thing  happen." 

This  was  the  first  time  Dick  Briggs  had  ever  at 
tempted  to  address  an  audience.  His  manner  was 
free  from  any  attempt  at  oratorical  effect,  but  his 
evident  sincerity  and  earnestness  took  the  place  of 
eloquence,  if  indeed  it  was  not  eloquence.  There  was 
nothing  boastful  or  belligerent  in  his  words  or  man- 


276  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

ner;  but  when  he  said,  "there'll  something  happen," 
every  person  who  heard  him  believed  him. 

Again  there  was  applause,  followed  by  cries  of 
"Horton!"  "Horton!"  which  were  kept  up  till  the 
entire  audience  seemed  to  be  yelling  for  Horton. 

When  Horton  finally  stepped  forward  he  was  given 
a  reception  which  would  have  made  glad  the  heart  of 
a  politician.  He  stood  there  for  full  two  minutes, 
waiting  for  the  handclapping  and  cheers  to  subside. 
Then  he  raised  his  hand  in  token  of  silence,  and 
when  he  could  make  himself  heard,  said: 

"My  friends,  what  my  friend  Briggs  has  told  you 
is  the  truth;  only  he  attaches  an  undue  weight  to  my 
action.  The  fact  is,  my  life  at  that  time  was  unim 
portant  and  not  valuable.  Besides,  my  action  re 
sulted  in  what  was  probably  as  great  a  benefit  to  me 
as  to  him,  so  we  are  even  on  that  score.  And  now  let 
us  drop  the  matter.  The  editor  of  the  Signal  was 
only  trying  to  warn  its  readers  against  being  led 
astray  by  what  he  regards  as  false  doctrines." 

It  was  all  well  enough  for  Horton  to  talk  of  drop 
ping  the  matter;  but  the  newspapers  got  hold  of  it. 
Some  of  them  soon  revived  the  story  of  his  rescue  in 
the  runaway  by  Dick  Briggs,  and  gave  that  as  a  rea 
son  for  Horton's  action  in  letting  himself  be  sent  to 
the  penitentiary.  For  a  while  both  Horton  and  Dick 
were  given  much  more  notoriety  than  they  wanted. 
The  matter  quieted  down,  however,  after  a  time;  but 


OLD     FBIENDS     MEET  277 

Horton's  audiences  for  some  time  showed  a  disposi 
tion  to  lionize  him  as  a  man  who  had  offered  his  life 
for  a  friend. 

Although  he  was  not  again  directly  attacked  as 
being  an  ex-convict,  his  heretical  addresses  drew 
forth  much  adverse  comment  from  orthodox  period 
icals.  He  was  charged  with  blasphemy.  One  paper 
stated  that  he  claimed  to  be  equal  to  God.  Another 
contained  a  scathing  editorial  on  the  disorganizing 
tendencies  of  his  addresses,  and  urged  all  church 
members  to  avoid  his  meetings  as  they  would  a  pesti 
lence. 

The  preachers  began  to  notice  him  in  their  ser 
mons.  What  seemed  most  to  disturb  them  was  that 
a  man  who  had  not  taken  a  course  at  any  theological 
institution  should  presume  to  talk  to  the  people  about 
God  and  about  spirituality. 

To  all  suggestions  that  he  answer  his  critics  Horton 
turned  a  deaf  ear.  He  kept  on  in  the  even  tenor  of 
his  way;  and  still  the  people  went  to  hear  him.  He 
did  once  say  in  the  course  of  an  address: 

"Each  of  us  is  constructed  differently  from  all 
others.  Each  person  is  unique.  What  is  true  to  me 
is  not  necessarily  true  to  you.  It  is  well  for  1:3  as 
we  go  along,  I  think,  to  bear  in  mind  that  no  one  of 
us  has  a  monopoly  on  God,  or  on  the  truth." 

He  was  not  at  all  disturbed  by  what  was  said  of 
him.  He  felt  that  by  his  mistaken  actions  he  had 


278  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

made  his  own  schooling  much  more  severe  than  it 
need  have  been.  Still,  he  dismissed  all  regrets  for 
the  past  as  useless,  and  lived  in  perfect  peace  of  mind, 
fully  believing  and  acting  on  the  statement  contained 
in  Corinne's  telegram:  "The  present  and  the  future 
are  enough." 

Besides  many  requests  for  lectures  and  addresses, 
Horton  received  a  large  mail  from  people  he  had 
never  met,  the  sentiments  of  the  writers  ranging  from 
warm  admiration  and  indorsement  to  bitter  denun 
ciation.  Letters  of  the  former  class  were  signed 
with  the  names  of  the  writers;  those  of  the  other  kind 
were  usually  signed  only  with  initials  or  were  wholly 
anonymous. 

Occasionally  Horton  replied  through  the  columns 
of  the  Gazette  to  a  communication  seeming  to  call 
for  such  treatment.  Here  is  a  single  example: 

"To  the  Gazette:  In  a  published  account  of  a 
lecture  delivered  by  the  editor  of  the  Gazette  I  notice 
he  seems  to  hold  that  neither  a  man's  belief  nor  his 
conduct  makes  any  difference  to  God;  in  other  words, 
that  God  does  not  care  what  a  man  believes  or  dis 
believes,  what  he  does  or  fails  to  do. 

"Is  such  teaching  as  this  defensible  from  any  point 
of  view?  Is  it  not  demoralizing  in  its  tendency? 

"H.  M.  W." 

The  Gazette  published  the  letter  with  the  follow 
ing  reply: 


OLD    FRIENDS    MEET  279 

"While  what  our  correspondent  refers  to  as  a  lec 
ture  was  in  fact  an  informal  talk,  it  expressed,  as  far 
as  it  went,  what  the  editor  regards  as  the  truth;  and 
we  do  not  believe  the  truth  on  any  subject  to  be 
either  indefensible  or  demoralizing.  Man's  belief 
and  his  conduct  affect  himself,  and  may  affect  other 
persons;  they  do  not  affect  God. 

"We  think  there  is  no  subject  more  sacred  than 
man;  for  every  man  has  in  him  something  of  God, 
and  is  in  that  sense  a  part  of  God.  Still,  we  think 
it  is  the  height  of  presumption  in  man  to  imagine 
that  his  belief  or  lack  of  belief,  or  even  his  conduct, 
can  excite  the  admiration  or  arouse  the  wrath  of  the 
Infinite. 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

THE   FALL    OF   THE    CURTAIN. 

In  the  month  of  May  there  was  a  double  wedding 
at  the  home  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Roberts,  on  which  occa^ 
sion  their  daughter  Corinne  became  Mrs.  Frank  Hor- 
ton,  and  John  \V.  Darrell  and  Maude  Briggs  became 
man  and  wife,  the  Rev.  David  Winter  being  the  offi 
ciating  clergyman.  This  programme  had  been 
agreed  upon  after  sundry  conferences  and  consulta 
tions  among  the  interested  parties. 

As  this  was  several  years  ago,  any  attempted  de 
scription  of  the  dress  or  appearance  of  the  brides 
or  bridegrooms  would  be  very  much  out  of  date. 
They  seemed  to  be  satisfied  with  each  other;  and 
that  being  the  case,  we  and  the  rest  of  the  world 
ought  to  be  satisfied  also. 

Frank  Horton  is  still  editor  of  the  Gazette,  and 
has  many  more  calls  made  on  him  for  lectures  and 
addresses  than  he  can  fill.  He  and  his  wife  pass  a 
part  of  every  summer  at  the  ranch  in  New  Mexico. 
There  is  a  youngster  four  years  of  age  who  makes  his 
home  with  them.  Corinne  insisted  on  giving  him 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN       281 

the  name  of  Frank;  and  when  a  middle  name  was 
being  talked  of,  John  Darrell  suggested  that  it  ought 
to  be  Young.  The  suggestion  was  adopted,  but  it 
had  one  unlooked-for  result,  that  of  reversing  the 
order  of  the  lad's  given  names.  He  is  universally 
spoken  of  as  Young  Frank  Horton,  and  even  his 
parents  have  fallen  into  the  way  of  calling  him 
Young  instead  of  Frank. 

From  the  time  of  their  first  summer  spent  at  the 
ranch  Corinne  rivaled — if,  indeed,  she  did  not  super 
sede — her  husband  in  popularity  with  the  cow-boys. 
She  seemed  intuitively  to  understand  them;  and  her 
liking  for  them  on  account  of  the  way  they  treated 
her  husband  prompted  her  to  try  to  make  them  al 
ways  feel  at  home  when  they  called.  They  think 
there  is  no  woman  like  "Young's  wife— Mrs.  Hor 
ton";  for  while  they  always  address  her  as  Mrs.  Hor 
ton,  they  steadily  refuse  to  call  her  husband  anything 
but  Young.  Horton  takes  this  good-naturedly  and 
answers  to  the  name  of  Young  while  at  the  ranch. 
One  of  the  cow-boys  once  remarked  when  speaking  of 
the  matter:  "We  don't  care  what  his  name  is  in  the 
States;  Young's  good  enough  for  us."  Still,  when 
speaking  among  themselves,  they  always  refer  to 
Corinne  as  "Young's  wife — Mrs.  Horton." 

The  first  summer  of  their  stay  at  the  ranch  Horton 
found  it  necessary  to  build  an  addition  to  his  cabin  to 
accommodate  his  guests,  not  only  from  the  east  but 


282  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

from  the  surrounding  country;  for  the  people  of  that 
section  of  the  country  showed  a  disposition  to  make 
the  ranch  a  favorite  visiting  place. 

On  arriving  at  the  ranch  the  second  summer  after 
their  marriage,  Horton  and  his  wife  found  set  up  in 
the  sitting-room  a  new  piano. 

Upon  inquiry,  Ned  Long  stated  that  a  few  days 
before  Bill  Doolin  and  two  or  three  other  men  had 
appeared  there  with  the  piano  on  a  wagon,  and  asked 
if  they  might  store  it  in  the  house  till  they  called 
for  it. 

When  later  Horton  spoke  to  Doolin  about  it,  the 
latter  gravely  asserted  that  it  was  a  great  accommoda 
tion  to  him  and  others,  not  specified,  to  be  allowed 
to  store  the  instrument  there;  that  of  course  they'd 
take  it  away  any  time  it  was  in  the  road;  but  in  the 
meantime  they  wanted  Mrs.  Horton  to  make  use  of  it. 
Since  then  hardly  a  day  passes,  when  Horton  and  his 
wife  are  at  the  ranch,  without  a  visit  from  cow-boys, 
who  always  want  to  hear  Mrs.  Horton  play  and  sing, 
and  who  are  always  gratified.  They  freely  express 
the  opinion  that  it  beats  the  music  at  any  show  they 
ever  attended. 

When  Young  Frank  Horton  was  three  years  old 
some  cowboys  appeared  at  the  ranch  one  day,  leading 
a  Shetland  pony  a  little  bigger  than  a  good-sized 
sheep,  having  on  it  a  bridle  and  miniature  cow-boy's 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  CUETAIN       283 

saddle  of  the  finest  make.  To  the  pommel  of  the 
saddle  was  hung  a  small  horse-hair  lariat. 

"This  is  for  Young  Horton,"  said  the  spokesman, 
presenting  the  pony  to  Horton. 

"Say,  boys!"  replied  Horton,  "aren't  you  piling 
this  on  a  little  thick?" 

"That's  all  right,  Young,"  said  the  spokesman. 
"You're  gettin'  to  be  a  pretty  old  man,  yourself. 
We're  expectin'  to  have  the  kid  with  us  when  you're 
gone!" 

With  which  reassuring  statement  Horton  was  com 
pelled  to  accept  the  gift  on  behalf  of  his  son. 

John  Darrell  and  his  wife  have  two  children,  both 
of  whom,  their  father  says,  have  their  mother's  tem 
per.  It  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  very  bad  sort  of  temper, 
however,  for  a  happier  family  than  they  all  make  to 
gether  would  be  hard  to  find.  It  is  a  time  of  espe 
cial  jubilation  with  them  all  when  they  go  to  New 
Mexico  to  spend  a  month  or  two  at  Uncle  Frank's 
ranch.  There  Maude  Darrell  is  looked  upon  as  the 
second  best  pianist  and  singer  America  has  produced, 
"Young's  wife — Mrs.  Horton"  being  regarded  as  the 
prima  donna. 

Darrell's  doubts  on  matters  touching  religion  have 
long  since  disappeared.  He  is  happy  and  contented 
in  what  his  friend  and  teacher,  Frank  Horton,  terms 
the  larger  faith.  He  and  his  friend  North  are  two  of 
the  pillars  in  the  independent  church  of  the  Rev. 


284:  THE     LARGER     FAITH 

David  Winter.  After  meeting  for  a  year  or  two  in 
the  theater,  this  congregation  erected  a  building  of 
their  own.  The  church,  though  large,  was  not  a 
very  costly  one;  and  it  was  fully  paid  for  before  the 
first  service  was  held  in  it.  They  still  persist  in  the 
unorthodox  practice  of  taking  up  no  collections  at 
their  services;  and  yet  they  seem  to  prosper. 

The  Gazette  has  for  business  manager  Mr.  Richard 
T.  Briggs.  Though  not  quite  so  belligerent  as  for 
merly,  Dick  is  still  ready  to  "strike  where  wrong  de 
fies."  He  has  lost  something  of  his  youthful  im 
petuosity,  but  none  of  his  loyalty.  He  is  a  bachelor, 
and  doesn't  know  which  he  likes  best,  Maude's  chil 
dren  or  Young  ITorton.  They  all  call  him  Uncle 
Dick,  and  think  almost  as  much  of  him  as  of  their 
parents. 

Bob  Thompson  still  fills  his  office  of  Bishop  with 
dignity,  and,  it  is  believed,  with  much  benefit  to  the 
people  of  his  diocese.  It  has  become  customary 
among  the  cow-boys  and  cattlemen  to  refer  to  him  for 
adjudication  many  disputes  which  formerly  were  set 
tled  in  another  way;  and  in  deciding  the  matters  sub 
mitted  to  him,  often  nice  and  difficult  questions,  he 
has  shown  such  fairness,  sagacity  and  rare  common 
sense  that  his  word  has  come  to  be  authority.  Any 
disposition  to  oppose  what  the  Bishop  says  is  prompt 
ly  frowned  down.  Bill  Doolin,  Sam  McChesney  and 
other  leading  lights  among  the  cow-boys  are  staunch 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  CURTAIN       285 

supporters  of  Bishop  Bob's  ecclesiastical  authority; 
and  when  on  rare  occasions  it  is  questioned,  Sam  gets 
to  smiling  too  blandly  for  the  comfort  of  any  would- 
be  recalcitrants. 

Even  the  reader  would  not  recognize  Ned  Long. 
Seeing  that  erect  carriage,  gazing  into  those  clear 
eyes,  it  would  be  hard  to  believe  that  he  had  ever  in 
his  life  been  afraid.  Eumor  says  he  makes  frequent 
trips  to  the  house  of  a  ranchman  twenty  miles  dis^ 
tant.  The  ranchman,  by  the  way,  has  a  nineteen- 
year-old  daughter  who  plays  on  the  piano  and  sings. 

If  Whitefoot  were  the  favorite  saddle-horse  of  a 
millionaire  he  could  not  be  given  more  care  and  at 
tention  than  Ned  bestows  on  him.  Once,  after  re 
turning  from  a  visit  to  the  ranchman's  house,  Ned, 
as  he  patted  the  horse's  glossy  neck,  might  have  been 
heard  to  say  to  him:  "It  was  you  that  got  me  into 
all  this,  old  fellow!" 

Before  sleeping  that  night  Ned  wrote  to  Frank 
Horton  an  unusually  long  letter,  which  he  mailed  the 
next  day. 

Three  days  later  there  flashed  westward  over  the 
wires  the  following  message: 

"To  EDWAED  LONG,  TKES  PIEDRAS,  NEW  MEXICO: 
"Hearty  commendation.  Letter.  The  one  reality  of 
life  is  love.  FRANK  HORTON." 

THE  END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


FormL9-32m-8,'58(5876s4)444 


.PSL 


Coulter  - 


Ikh9           Larger  faith 
C6319  1 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A    001384732    2 


PS 
Il4l 
C6319  1 


